


Love and Discovery

by DC_Fitzpatrick



Category: Sense and Sensibility (1995), Sense and Sensibility - All Media Types, Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Oral Sex, Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 23:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 48,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14295639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DC_Fitzpatrick/pseuds/DC_Fitzpatrick
Summary: What happens when Marianne Dashwood marries "with no sentiment superior to strong esteem and lively friendship."However, "Marianne could never love by halves; and her whole heart became, in time, as much devoted to her husband, as it had once been to Willoughby."





	1. Unwise Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, folks!  
> Apparently I suffer from a very serious condition called Brandonfever and the doctor said the only cure is to write, so here I am. This is a bit different from my other work, and the angst and feels hit real hard at first (at least for me, 'cause I hate to see my beloved Colonel Brandon hurting), but it will get better, I swear.  
> As ever, Colonel Brandon is Alan Rickman in my mind, no matter what storyline I'm following. Charcters and whatever else you recognize from somewhere else, are not mine. I hope you enjoy! And if you are following my other work, don't worry, I'm not abandoning it. It will get updated as well.

Marianne sat at her dressing table brushing her hair. She had gotten married earlier – she was no longer a Dashwood, but Marianne Brandon – and she felt an overwhelming mix of emotions. She had the impression though, that none of those emotions were the right ones to be felt on one’s wedding night.

            She was taking longer than was actually needed to brush one’s hair because she did not want, in the slightest, to go out into the bedchamber and face her husband. She tried to gather the courage to, but hadn’t succeeded so far.

            He had always been very sweet and patient with her. Always a most thoughtful friend, one who could be counted on with no hesitation. She had not realized he was in love with her – apparently she had been the only one not to – not until one evening, while they were conversing in a corner of Sir John’s drawing room after supper. He had not been able to suppress it any longer and had declared his feelings to her in a whisper, with sweet gentle words that would melt any young woman’s heart, and he had followed it with a marriage proposal. She was very shocked and lost for words, so he, being the sweet patient man he was, gave her time to think before asking her for an answer.

            She mulled it over for the following days, until the time he was to visit next. She very much enjoyed his company, which had been constant ever since her fever subsided, and cherished his friendship. His presence in her life was one of the few things that made her slowly feel a bit like herself again, a bit more cheerful, after Willoughby had wrecked her heart. Colonel Brandon was a distinguished gentleman who had always treated her with respect and kindness. She did admire him. But she did not love him. How could she? Her heart had been Willoughby’s, and wasted it was on him. There could be no other love for her. She would love no more. She had known true love and had lost it.

            But if she refused the Colonel’s proposal, she might not ever again have the pleasure of his company as she did now. Their conversations had been numerous and all comprising, and she came to know him very well. She felt he would be embarrassed and hurt by a refusal, as any man perhaps would, and would not dare to be as friendly again. She did not wish for that.

            Seeing as she would never love another again, why not marry him? It was of no use waiting for love as a reason to marry; she would remain alone for the rest of her life if she did. At least the Colonel was a friend, someone she trusted. She would be luckier than most women, who were forced to marry with no sentiment at all for their husbands. She would have someone interesting to talk to, to share her life with. And her duties… her duties she would learn to endure, as most women seemed to do. Thus, she accepted his proposal.

            However, ever since they became betrothed, whenever he declared his love – and it was a constant event – she had felt absolutely awful for not being able to respond properly to his tender words, for not being able to even produce a gesture of acknowledgment, of tenderness. She felt awful because somewhere deep down, some part of her still wished to hear such words coming from Willoughby’s lips. Most of the time he did not seem to mind her lack of reaction, but she did not feel right nonetheless, like perhaps she was being selfish in accepting his proposal without feeling for him what he felt for her. He deserved more. On the other hand, if he loved her so, he perhaps would feel worse with her refusal than with her lack of response.

The few pecks on the lips that were secretively shared… she had felt a bit queasy afterwards, as if it were wrong, as if she was betraying someone, betraying herself. She thought it was Willoughby she should be kissing. All the plans she had made, all gone to waste. It had been long since she had last seen Willoughby, or even heard of him, and he did not occupy her every thought any longer, but being there, with another man, she could not help but bring them up once more. And with such mixed feelings she carried on, thinking she might say something if they became unbearable, and before she knew it, she was on the church steps in her white gown and it was too late.

            And now she sat in Delaford, mistress of it, overbrushing her hair, avoiding going out to her bedchamber and doing much more than just pressing her lips against her husband’s. The mere thought of it made her desperate enough to consider fleeing through the window into the blackness of the night. She had made the wrong decision by accepting his marriage proposal, and now she did not know how to proceed.

            He knocked on her dressing room door and her heart stopped. After a long moment of silence, she finally managed to say “Enter,” very feebly, with a very dry throat.

            He opened the door and instantly his eyes seemed to burn with desire upon seeing her in her nightgown, though it was a simple one she already had the habit of wearing when she was unmarried. The few special ones that were meant for the wedding night and following days were in her armoire, untouched. Though simple, the nightgown still revealed more than he had ever seen of her. She stood up, her mind not sure if her feet attempted to come closer to him and gather the courage she needed to proceed, or if they attempted to flee. But it was he who came forward first, taking her in his arms and kissing her.

            It was a deep kiss, unlike any they had shared before. As his tongue caressed hers, she felt suffocated. Her hands came in between their bodies and she pushed him away.

            “Colonel Brandon, please stop. I… I can’t.”

            His eyes, which burned in desire not a minute before, now filled with sorrow and confusion, she could see. Disappointment marked his countenance as well. She had never seen anyone look so grieved as he did in that moment. It made her heart heavy.

            “Forgive me,” she started. “Perhaps we could try…”

            “No,” he said firmly. “I would never want you to do anything you do not wish to.” He looked at her with a mixture of longing and sadness. She looked at him apologetically. “May I just ask… why?” He feared the answer to come but had to ask the question.

            She searched her mind for some suitable excuse, as to spare him from further pain, but it seemed as if he read her mind.

            “Please be candid with me,” he said.

            He hoped with all his heart it was just some silly, fleeing fear, normal to newlywed women. That it was just nerves. Something he could overcome with a few hours’ time, with some patience and reassurance. However, in the back of his mind, he already feared it was worse, much worse than that. He had chosen to ignore the fact that she had never, not once, professed love or even fondness towards him. Perhaps he should not have done so.

            “I … I can’t seem to… find the courage to do what needs to be done. I admire you, I do. But I am afraid all I feel for you, Colonel, is friendship. Nothing more.” She looked down in shame.

            Disappointment took over his countenance once more, but what she did not know, and would never know, was that he was more disappointed in himself than anything else. For not seeing this, for allowing the marriage to go through when it would bring her only sorrow, and all he wished to do in his life was make her happy. He had been selfish, seeing only his happiness, ignoring her lack of it. _What needs to be done_. His heart could not possibly break more than it had at this moment. It had never been broken as such. He gathered strength to maintain his composure and not let the tears that pricked his eyes roll down his face. He would not cry in front of her. She did not love him when he loved her more than life itself. His heart, or what remained of it, felt heavy, filled with pain. Could it be she still loved Willoughby? Most likely. But he would not ask. Confirmation would only lead to more sorrow. It was best not to be sure. He would not bear it, to know she looked at him and thought of Willoughby, wished _he_ was the one standing with her. After all that blaggard had done to her, she still loved him. But even with all his own efforts and his love, she could not bring herself to care for him. He felt like such a failure, so inadequate. It was too much emotion for his broken, feeble heart to endure.

            “I see,” he said gravely.

            “Forgive me.”

            “Do not apologize. You cannot force your heart to feel something it will not. You cannot… force yourself to do something you do not wish to. It is I who must apologize for bursting in here and… invading your privacy. For assuming things. Forgive me. I will… retire then. Good night.”

            Though he tried not to, he still looked wretched and she noticed. He turned to leave and her heart ached for him. But she did not know what to do.

            “Colonel Brandon…”

            “Can’t you at least call me by my Christian name?” he asked without turning around.

            “I… it would be too awkward, I think.” She could not muster it, it was too intimate. Not even Willoughby she had called by name.

            “Very well, Marianne. May I, still call you Marianne?” He still had his back to her, his hand on the doorknob of the open door.

            “Yes, of course.”

            “Do not worry, Marianne. I will retire in a different room. You may sleep well. Unbothered.”

            He pulled the door open further and crossed the bedchamber. He did not look back once. On the opposite wall was another door, one that led to his dressing room. He opened it and closed it firmly behind him, almost slamming it. She watched, riddled with guilt. When he was secured behind the door, in his dark dressing room, he took a deep breath and let the tears roll down his cheeks.


	2. A Worrisome Situation

Colonel Brandon woke up, still feeling wretched about what had transpired on the previous night, which should have been the happiest of his life. The fact that he had not slept much at all only made him feel worse. He washed up and changed for breakfast, resolute on putting it all behind him and making the best of what was. As horrible as it was to be married to the woman he loved and not have her correspond in a way he would have preferred, at least she claimed to admire him as a friend. They could be civil to each other, and he would not spend the rest of his days completely alone, as he had done so far.

His mind was rational as such, but his heart still bled. He had not realized it but he had returned to his grave and solemn old self. Before he proposed, they had enjoyed a long friendship and that had slowly cheered his heart, made him more open, unguarded. And then, the prospect of having her as a wife had made him more forward still. So happy. But now, he could not act as such anymore. Not that he was angry with her, not at all. How could he be? He loved her so deeply, just as she was, and speaking her mind, being truthful to herself and others was just part of who she was. He would not want it any other way. If he felt anger at all it was only towards himself. But he had to guard himself, his shattered heart. And being grave and building those walls around him was the only way he knew how.

He sat at the breakfast table alone, pondering that at least their wedding trip was not to happen right away. It was harvest season and he had a lot to oversee. Then would come winter and it would be unwise to travel, so the trip had been scheduled for months from now. He could easily make the arrangements for it not to happen at all, there was no point after all, whereas if it were scheduled for now, they would have to go, as to not arouse any suspicions or comments amongst their neighbors and family. And God only knew the awkwardness and sorrow that would ensue.

Marianne walked slowly down the stairs, dreading what was to come. How could she have, once again, made such a mess out of things, of her life? She would disgrace her family. She had already disappointed and deeply hurt a dear friend. It was all rather hopeless.

She walked into the room. Just the sight of her made his wounded heart beat with more life, though not much due to its current state.  He stood for her to sit and only managed a small shy smile, of the kind he had had for everyone for so many years before he had met her, before he had grown closer to her. It was his attempt at being civil, of hiding his deep pain.

She looked at him and was surprised, and yet terrified, and she only nodded once in acknowledgement, and sat opposite him. He sat back down.

“Good morning,” he managed to say firmly after a couple of deep breaths.

“Good… morning,” she answered in a small voice.

Breakfast was served and she was afraid to even face the servants to say thank you. There was an awkward and long silence. She waited for the servants to leave and gathered courage to say what she needed to. He ate, barely looking up from his plate when she blurted out

“Are you to send me back to my mother?”

He looked up at her, startled, but quickly calmed himself. He slowly put the cutlery down.

“That… that would disgrace you.” _Would_ she rather be sent back than to endure his company? That thought saddened him even more. Well, she had made her decision, she could not go back on it. He would not allow her to. Not for his own sake or his own selfish reasons, but for her and her family, whom he held dearly to him. She would have to live with that. Live with him.

“But here I would only be in the way of… of you finding a more suitable wife.”

“Finding a more suitable wife?” His voice broke into a more tender tone. “Marianne, I could never find another wife. I will never love anyone as much as I love you. I do, love you, despite everything. More than I could ever put into…”

“Please don’t say such things. It pains me to hear. It only reminds me of… of how inadequate a wife I am.” It did pain her, that she fooled him so. That she could not respond to his claims of love as she was sure he would like her to. She could not say the whole truth, of how it saddened her also because it reminded her that it was not Willoughby saying such things to her, as she had once hoped to hear.

Now he could not even profess his love. It was a burden to her. He felt as if his already weakened heart had been crushed by a rock. On top of it all he would have to suppress his feelings, as he had done for so long. It only pained him more.

“I… I see. Well, no, I won’t be sending you back.” His grave and firm tone returned. “It would do no one any good. You will be disgraced and I only wish you well. And I… I will not be finding another wife, no matter what. It already took me over five-and-thirty years to find the one.”

He picked up his cutlery once more and began eating again, not looking at her, afraid tears might betray him. And since he was not even allowed to express his feelings for her, maybe it was best not to look at her at all. His eyes would always give him away.

“Thank you. For… for being so generous.”

He knew it was not all generosity that prompted his decision. He kept her from disgracing herself but he _would_ be keeping her by his side, where he wanted her. Though he did not want her exactly how he was getting her. Deep down, beneath the overwhelming pain and sadness he felt, a spark of hope flickered, hope that maybe one day he would finally win her over, make her love him. And that could only be done if she stayed beside him. But no, he mustn’t kid himself and set himself up for more sorrow. Perhaps she would prefer to be disgraced and away from him. _Should_ he let her choose? No. That was no life for a lady. He remembered what became of Eliza after his brother divorced her. He would not have another woman he loved, one he loved even more, if it was even possible, end up like that. And her family… her family would be so disappointed, and would suffer as well. He would not be the cause of that. He would take care of her, love her. She did not need to know it, since she did not wish to, but his love would be present in everything he did for her, with her.

“Please, Colonel Brandon, do not be cross with me and so silent for too long. I will not bear it. Forgive me. I do not mean you harm, I just…”

“I am not cross with you,” he interrupted her, finally looking up. “Please understand that it is now rather hard for me to act as I once did around you. But I… I will get there eventually. May I just make a request as well?” He asked, still stiff and grave. Though he wished for them to be friends as before, wished to keep her happy however he could and unworried about her actions or what they did to him, he could not manage that so easily. He could not help his discomfort. He wished to declare his love on roof tops, fill her with sweet kisses and warm embraces, have her be at the very least comfortable with that, and he could not. He still had not figured out how to deal with all of that. He still could not _remember_ how to go back to suppressing all that. It was harder now, since he should not be required to anymore.

“Yes, Colonel?”

“Do… do not call me so formally. _Colonel Brandon_. I feel… I feel as if I were your master or something of the sort. As if I were an absolute stranger to you. So distant. Since you cannot bring yourself to say my Christian name, just speak to me directly, please.”

Sorrow weighed in her heart for not being able to give him something so simple as to call him by his given name.

“All… All right. Yes.”

“Thank you.”

They went back to eating in silence.

Since the weight of fear of being sent back to her mother and being disgraced, and the fear he was cross with her and would never speak to her properly again had lifted, she could muster more courage to talk, to try and wash away the awkwardness.

“I wish… I wish to be as we were before. Friends. To be able to talk freely and…”

“Yes, I wish for that as well. Forgive my… my ways. Be patient with me.”

She smiled rather shyly.

“If… if you have nothing else to do, we could… go for a walk, perhaps? After breakfast.”

He reluctantly consented. He knew everyone around the estate, down at the village, and wherever they went would wish to congratulate them, the newlywed couple. He did not know if he could endure that. But he would have to. Every day of his life from now on would be pointed with something like this. And they _would_ have to be out in public together, they could not be locked away in the manor. He would have to learn how to endure it, how to proceed. How to go back to normal. For her sake. To make her content, as much as he could anyway, with her being trapped in a marriage with someone she did not love.

And as he feared, every couple of steps they took they were stopped to be congratulated. Though he felt uneasy, he smiled and thanked all. Marianne could see the discomfort and sorrow in his eyes as they walked arm in arm. This was not what she had hoped for. She wished to be alone with him and try to rescue those joyous moments they had shared before his proposal. At least to some extent. But they did not even have the time to talk as all at Delaford stopped to congratulate them and meet her, the new mistress. He was able to, despite his pain, be graceful and proper and keep appearances, though she could see how hard it was for him. She had more difficulty in being comfortable, being reminded of the fact she was mistress there though she did not deserve to be, though she shouldn’t be, though she did not wish to be.


	3. Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love all the comments and kudos. Please keep 'em coming.

They had been married for months. The situation was now less awkward, but awkward nonetheless. She was the one that most strived for normalcy and friendship as they once shared. She would invite him on walks and start up conversations, though it was rather hard for her as well. She was constantly saddened by her situation, by the situation she had created for herself and for him. Every so often, she would remember Willoughby, some moment they had shared or some plan she had made for them, and that would saddened her and make her wish to be alone and avoid him. However, she could not live in the same house with a man and not have a civil existence with him, especially not a man who she had much admiration for, and owed so much to. So she forced herself to try and regain the friendship they once had.

He responded very well most of the time, but there were days in which his love could not be so easily contained. He wished to take her in his arms and kiss her lips, her cheeks, every inch of her body. He wished to profess his affections, shower her with tender words of love, with caresses. But he could not. And the pain of not being able to do so, of not being loved, would take over his heart, despite his efforts. So on such days, he would come up with some excuse, some urgent business that needed his attention, for he could not bear to look at her and not have her. On these days, his heart ached just to be in her presence, even if in silence. Were the situation different, were they as married couples should be, he would give up any and everything he had to do to simply be with her all day, to go wherever she wished to, to succumb to her heart’s every desire.

When they were required to go to assemblies or invited to dinner at a neighbor’s house, it was easier. They had others to talk to and wouldn’t be expected to display any kind of affection anyway, so such outings were something of a relief. They had yet to invite someone to their home, a task that should be organized by the mistress of the house but which she showed no interest in or inclination of doing. Colonel Brandon, not wishing to burden her further, never suggested or demanded anything, though the neighbors did notice and commented on the lack of such parties, which were expected.

            He very rarely made the first move and invited her on outings. Very rarely did he strike up conversations as well, for fear of overstepping, of pushing too hard and scaring her off even more. He was still learning how to handle the whole situation. But he would have his moments of boldness, especially when he felt an outburst of love in his chest, or when he saw she was growing weary of being the only one who tried.

            Physical contact was minimum. Though he wished to be able to at least hold hear hand, press his lips to it, he dared not. She would only take his arm when they were out in public, to keep appearances. She was afraid of any further contact, afraid she would give him false hope of anything more happening, afraid also, though not much for she knew he was a respectable man, of him not being able to contain himself and forcing himself on her somehow. She could still remember the desire that burned in his eyes on their wedding night. She had never seen him or any other gentleman look at her like that before. It frightened her. Perhaps subconsciously she was also fearful that more contact would make her change _her_ mind. She still stubbornly believed that giving into to him would somehow mean she be betraying someone else, betraying herself.

            In one of his most recent moments of boldness, Colonel Brandon gifted her a mare, to ride whenever she fancied. This had been at least a couple of weeks ago now, and she still had not ridden it. He noticed her smile upon seeing the mare was very forced and she was not truly pleased, only trying to be pleasant.  He could not figure out where he had gone wrong, and it was with pain weighing his heart that he decided once again to let her have her space and not try anything anytime soon. These types of situations were exactly why he avoided making any kind of gesture in the first place.

            What he did not know, nor could he, was that his gift reminded her of the horse Willoughby had promised her but she had not been able to accept. Queen Mab. He then promised it would be kept at Combe Magna, waiting for her, for when there was a change in circumstance. There never was. She never even got the chance to ride her horse. She wondered if it was still in the stables at Combe Magna. It certainly had another rider now.

            But she had a mare of her own, most generously gifted, and she had been very rude in not even taking it out for a ride. She decided she would, today, before the first frost fell and the opportunity escaped her. She needed to show appreciation for the gift bestowed on her, and to get over her silly reminiscing of things she could not change.

            She knocked on his study door. It was open, but he looked down at his quill and paper, thus making it the only way she could call his attention, since he did not wish to be called formally by her, the only way she felt comfortable calling him.

            He looked up and smiled upon seeing her. She donned her ridding gear and was pulling on her gloves as she said

            “Would you care to accompany me on a ride? I realized I have yet to break in the lovely present you gave me. A gross overlooking on my part.”

            He smiled. She was finally warming up to his gift. But today was one of those days he wished to hold her more than anything else. She looked beautiful in her ridding garments. He could not manage to accompany her.

            “I would love to, but unfortunately I cannot. I must finish these letters today,” he said, trying to not look at her too lovingly, too longingly.

            “Very well. I will see you later then. At supper.”

            He nodded. “Have a nice ride. I hope the mare is to your liking.”

 

            She rode around the grounds and the village and very much enjoyed the horse. She was a good mare, very tame, and she regretted having taken so long to take her out.

            “You are a good girl, aren’t you?” She caressed the mare’s neck, her mane as they rode on. “We’ll have to find you a proper name.” Queen Mab was obviously out of the question. “I promise I will take you out on often rides from now on. Whenever the weather allows it.”

            She was heading back to the manor when she passed a cottage that was further off from the village, much like her mother’s in Barton. It was where Eliza lived. She had moved in a few weeks past, finally giving in to the Colonel’s wishes of having her close by, to better care for her.

            Marianne remembered with regret that on Eliza’s arrival to Delaford, she was not as friendly as she could have been, as the mistress of Delaford and wife of the newcomer’s cousin should have been. All due to her discomfort because of their common link of the past. And Eliza probably did not even know they had that in common. She decided it was a day of getting over things, of changing her ways, of putting things behind her. And so she dismounted her horse and tied it to a nearby tree. She took a deep breath and placed a smile on her face before knocking. Eliza opened the door, very much surprised, but happy to see her.

            “Mrs. Brandon! Please, do come in. How lovely to see you.”

            Marianne felt horrible for having Eliza be so nice after she herself had been a bit rude on their first meeting.

            “I hope I am not intruding,” she said as she stepped inside.

            “Not at all!”

            “I just wished to check on how you were adapting to your new home. If there is anything I can do.” Marianne was almost at the sofa.

            “Please, have a seat,” Eliza offered. “We are well here, thank you for your concern, Mrs. Brandon.”

It was still very awkward for Marianne to be called Mrs. Brandon. With Eliza’s use of _we_ , she was remembered of her son. One Marianne had never met. Willoughby’s son.

“Cousin Brandon visits almost daily and sees that we are well. He is a very good man.”

Marianne smiled, and yet, she felt horrible once again. He had been to see Eliza constantly. Of course he had. She was his ward. That was why he moved her here, to be able to help. And he _was_ a good man. Generous, caring. She should have been present in at least a couple of those visits. But he had never invited her. Perhaps he was thinking of her well being. He was very perceptive and knew her well. Her heart sank at the thought of him seeing through her, of her not being able to fool him at all and hurting him more than she had already, of him knowing she still thought of Willoughby.

“Yes. Indeed. He is a good man. You’ve made this cottage very cozy, very nice.”

“Thank you.” Eliza smiled.

“Forgive my rudeness in not coming to visit sooner. I have…”

“It is quite alright. I imagine being mistress of this place comes with a lot of work. And you are still adapting as well, are you not? It has not been long since you got married to cousin Brandon.”

“It is true. Only a few months.”

Marianne was riddled with guilt. Being mistress of Delaford _would_ entail many duties indeed, but she had not taken interest in any of them. She had not done much since her arrival. Colonel Brandon probably continued to take care of it all, as though he were still a bachelor. How had she never thought of this? And he never once demanded anything of her. Was she so selfish and preoccupied with her feelings that she could not even do this? Perform her duties. Help a man who despite her poor decisions helped her and her family not just by being married to her, but also in so many other ways. She was truly an unfit wife. But no longer. She would take up her duties, relieve her husband, play her part from now on.

As their conversation continued, Marianne got to know Eliza better, and saw she was a very sweet, lovely girl. In the back of her mind she had painted her as the opposite of that, hoping against hope that it was she who had seduced Willoughby, offered herself to him, and that he was merely a victim of her lascivious ways. That it was because of her that Marianne did not sit right now in Combe Magna, riding Queen Mab. But no, all of that would not explain Willoughby’s lack of character. It would not explain why he chose money over love. Why he fled and did not have the decency to give her some sort of explanation before he was pressed for it.

Pain steadily filled her heart. How could she have loved such a man, wasted her heart on him. A man who would mistreat and seduce a lovely, innocent young lady such as Eliza and leave her without a second thought. A man who would not even care for his son, who had never even bothered to meet him. A man who had seduced her as well, to an extent at least, only to leave her. He had never loved her, not truly. She was a fool for thinking he had. How could she still waste a thought on such a man, when she was married to a man who had already proven to her over and over that he was a better man, a more respectable one. She began to grieve for herself and her utter foolishness, and for the hopelessness of it all. Her mind was rational but her heart was not. It had been Willoughby’s and he had torn it apart, and it was now unfit to be anyone else’s.

A child cried in a room in the back and Eliza excused herself to go to him. Marianne began to panic a bit, hoping she was not to bring the child out. She was not sure she would bear to see him, especially not now, in the frail state she had pushed herself into.

“I will then take my leave, as to not be in your way. Thank you for having me.” She called out.

But it was useless. Eliza hurried to the parlor with the child in her arms.

“No, you are not in my way at all, Mrs. Brandon!”

Marianne stared fixedly at Eliza’s son. He looked exactly like Willoughby. Exactly like she had imagined her child with him would have looked like. It was like seeing him in front of her once again, after so long. Her heart sank to her stomach.

“Oh, that is right. You haven’t met Jonathan yet, have you?” Eliza smiled.

Marianne held her composure and smiled as well. “No, I have not had the pleasure.”

Eliza handed him to Marianne.

“Oh, no. I… I do not know how to hold a child properly.”

“It is easy. You will learn. You must learn! Pretty soon you will have one of your own.”

Marianne reluctantly took him, not wishing to be rude. He, as his mother, was a sweet child and smiled at her, playing with her curls. It only made her feel worse. Willoughby abandoned such a sweet child. What a horrible man. And she loved him. How could she still? She had been deceived by him. Would she not learn?

“Cousin Brandon tells me you knew his father?”

Marianne looked up at Eliza, startled.

“He says he was visiting his aunt and she is your mother’s neighbor? It was when cousin Brandon met you as well. He has told me how he fell in love the moment he laid eyes on you.” Eliza smiled.

Marianne struggled to maintain her composure. She could not believe her husband talked so openly about how he loved her. How could he be so sure about his love for her? Had he not loved Eliza’s mother? He had. He said so himself. So how could he truly love _her_? A second attachment. She herself was unable to love again due to Willoughby. There was no such thing as second attachments. But then again, for him to be professing his love for her to other people, he must be sure. But why? While all these thoughts rushed through her head, a more pressing worry came to her. Had he told Eliza about her whole story with Willoughby?

“Yes… yes, I knew him.”

“I feel so foolish. Having fallen for his charms. I love my son, I do, but I sometimes wonder what would have been of my life if I had not… given in to Mr. Willoughby. And to think I hoped he would come back, hoped he loved me for so long… foolish.” A tear rolled down Eliza’s face.

Tears pricked her eyes as well, but Marianne remained strong.

“Do not feel bad. He had us all fooled. It is what he does.”

“But _you_ were not deceived by him! You were intelligent and saw my cousin Brandon’s worth from the start, surely, not giving Mr. Willoughby a second thought.”

Marianne smiled feebly.  “Yes, yes. Miss Williams, I really ought to go.” She handed the child back to its mother. “I will call again soon, if it is not too much trouble to you.”

“Not at all! I love having visitors. I don’t get them often.”

She left in a hurry. She only held her tears because she would have to leave the horse with the stable hand, and he would notice she had been crying.

Once inside the house, she ran up to her room, tears rolling down her cheeks.

 

****

 

Colonel Brandon sat at the dinner table alone. He waited for her but dinner was served without her there.

            “Is Mrs. Brandon not coming down for supper?”

            “No, sir,” answered a maid. “She feels unwell.”

            There was silence.

            “Has she been unwell long?”

            “No, I do not think so. Just this afternoon she went out for a ride and seemed rather cheerful. And Alan came back from dropping off supplies for Miss Williams not an hour ago and said Miss Williams was so happy because Mrs. Brandon had visited her. It must have been after her stroll that she became ill.”

            Understanding came to him. She had seen Willoughby’s son. That is what pained her.

            “I see. Thank you.”

            He ate alone, though he had lost his appetite.

            As he went up to his bedchamber, he passed her door. He wished to knock, see if there was something he could do. Anything to make her feel better. He wished to rock her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her. But it would be of no use. If she thought of Willoughby, he was probably the last person she wished to see. Her unwanted husband. The husband that was not Willoughby.

            He touched her door. His fist lifted to knock, but stopped midair. With sadness in his eyes, he took his hand to his side and walked on.


	4. A Most Needed Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted a bit early this week. You can thank my anxiety attacks for that. lol  
> Hope y'all enjoy and that this chapter is a little less heart-breaking.

Colonel Brandon sat at the breakfast table wondering how Marianne was, if she felt at all better, if there was something he could do. If he knocked on her door, would she answer him? While he absent mindedly sipped his tea, she appeared before him, crossing the threshold to sit at her place across from him at the table. She had come down for breakfast. It was a good sign.

            “Good morning” he uttered as he stood for her to take her seat.

            “Good morning” she responded, sitting down and looking up at him with a feeble smile.

            He sat back down. “Did… you sleep well?”

            “I did. You?”

            “Yes.”

            They both lied. She had spent most of the night seeing Willoughby, his son, in her mind’s eye and feeling nothing but sorrow. He could see it in her countenance that she had not slept well and still was not quite herself. But her countenance was not the only source of his knowledge. He had spent most of the night pacing his dressing room, listening to her sobbing from behind his door, worrying about her and feeling helpless, wishing there was something he could do. Many were the times he touched his hand to the door and almost knocked, but he never went through with it. What good would come of it? She would not welcome his worry, she would see it as an intrusion.

            “Yesterday you skipped supper. I hope whatever ailed you is no more,” he tried.

            “Oh yes. Forgive me for not warning you I would be absent. I went for a long ride yesterday and being in the sun for so long must have gotten to me.” She didn’t quite look him in the eye.

            “Right.” He said.

            They sat in silence for a moment, eating, and he could see sadness in her eyes still. He could not bear to see her like this. He missed her usual cheerfulness and her smiles, though since Willoughby, they had never been quite the same again. It made him feel worse still the fact that he could not make her smile again as she had with the cad. It baffled him how a man who tried so little and offered less could make her so happy, and he, who loved her more than life itself and tried his absolute best to please her and offer her all the kindness and tenderness she deserved, failed so miserably. But he had to try. Not only for her, but for himself, for seeing her happy made him happy as well.

            “I have some business in Bath. I’ll be leaving this morning.”

            “All right. When can I expect you back?”

            “In three day’s time.”

            She smiled shyly and nodded at him while she picked up her teacup.

            “You could… come with me, if you like.”

            “What?”

            “Have you ever been? You could walk around town, get to know it. Shop. Whatever you like. I can even accompany you, if there are no objections on your part. You know, just so you can get out of Delaford a bit. See new surroundings. Have new adventures.” He smiled. “It is not a long trip, but it is something.”

            She smiled back at him and this time, it was more cheerful. It seemed more real.

            “Won’t I… be in your way?”

            “Not at all.”

            “All right. I gladly accept your kind invitation then.” She smiled again, and he did so as well, feeling more relieved. He had helped, in some small way at least. He was glad for that.

            “I should go pack then! Or else I’ll make you late.”

            He chuckled as she got up in a hurry to go upstairs, leaving half a toast on her plate.

 

            On the carriage ride it seemed she was more cheerful still, and that Willoughby and his son were not on her mind any longer. Colonel Brandon’s heart filled with joy to see her feeling better. To know he had some small part in that.

            He sat across from her and admired her as she looked out the window, admiring the landscape. She donned a very pretty dress, yellow, silk. She looked beautiful in yellow, shining like the sun. She looked beautiful in any color. He wished to sit next to her, to hold her hand, which rested on her lap. Smell her hair, neatly pinned up and curled. Hold her in his arms. But he could not.

            “What business do you have in Bath, if I might ask?”

            “You may always ask. It is nothing much. I have some jewelry to sell.”

            “Jewelry?”

            “Yes. Some that was forgotten around the house. Old things. They belonged to my mother. Some I don’t even remember. Perhaps they belonged to Eliza.”

            Her countenance changed when he mentioned Eliza. There was some sorrow there, though he could not quite know if it was because she remembered Eliza’s daughter and consequently Willoughby’s son, or if it was for him, for all he had gone through. Perhaps there was also a hint of something more… Jealousy, could it be?

            “Do you not wish to keep your mother’s things to remember her by? What about your sister, does she not wish to wear her mother’s jewelry?”

            “My sister took what she wanted when she left. Well, what was left to her, at least. She gave me permission to sell whatever else remained. What was dear to me, I’ve kept. The rest is of no use to anyone, it has been sitting there for many years. Thankfully my brother could not find most of it or it would all have been wasted on his vices.” His tone changed and he became graver as he said this and looked out the window. He had already shared his family history with her when they were friends, before any proposals took place, and she knew how much remembering it all pained him. But he soon looked back at her and his expression was softened.

            “You may look through it, see if you would like to keep something. I should have offered sooner, forgive me. I just thought… you would prefer new things.”

            “Oh no, no… I… I couldn’t. No, it is yours to do with as you please.”

            He did not wish to make her uncomfortable by declaring his feelings, still he let slip though his lips “It would please me to please you. If you wish for something, it is yours.”

            “No, it would not feel right.” She could not accept possession of his family jewelry when she was not a true wife to him. She could not reap the benefits of being a Brandon without fulfilling her simplest obligations, which she hadn’t so far. But she was determined to change that as soon as they were back at Delaford.

            He fell silent upon her refusal.

            “What did you keep for yourself?” She asked cheerfully, trying to bring him back into good cheer.

            “Not much. A locket I remember she wore always. It has a portrait of me and my siblings as children in it.”

            “I should like to see that,” she smiled.

            He smiled back. “A bracelet or two I thought would make…” he shifted his eyes to look out the window as he finished the sentence. “Make nice gifts for any… daughters I might have.”

            Sadness crossed his countenance but he tried to shake it away as quickly as possible. She became quiet, knowing she was the cause of such sadness. After a moment, he broke the silence.

            “The ring on your finger was also hers.” He smiled. “You seemed to like it when I bestowed it upon you. You might like something else, if only you looked…”

            She looked down at her hand, admiring the ring he gave to her to represent his love, and her heart became heavy.

            “Why in Bath?” She tried to change the subject.

            “Because I know this jeweler and trust him. And it is closer and more pleasant than London.” He smiled shyly, noticing she had avoided his suggestion.

 

            They arrived in Bath with just enough time to catch the jeweler still open. They therefore, went straight to him to only find lodging afterwards.

            He stepped out of the carriage and waited to help her out, as he always had done. Though she usually shied away from physical contact with him, she took his arm as he escorted her to the shop. He tried not to get overly excited, telling himself it was a necessity, especially to keep appearances, that it meant nothing different in her eyes, but his heart could not help but beat faster in his chest at her touch.

            While he dealt with the business which had brought her husband here, Marianne wandered around the shop, admiring some pieces of jewelry. One in particular caught her eye. It was a simple gold necklace with a circular pendant which had the letter “M” engraved on it. She admired it so fixedly that Colonel Brandon took notice. He stopped talking business with the shop owner and moved closer to her to see what she was looking at. That broke her gaze. Colonel Brandon thought that perhaps he had moved too close to her and that she would move away from him, but she only looked up and smiled shyly.

            “Are we going?” She asked.

            “Not quite yet.”

            He wished to buy the necklace for her, do anything that would make her even slightly happy or smile, even if just for a moment. But due to their odd arrangement, he did not quite know how to proceed in many aspects of their life still. Before he could think of a way to offer or even build up the courage to, the jeweler came before them.

            “The lady has excellent taste.” He took the necklace from the showcase and placed it before her. “It is an excellent piece, and an excellent gift for your new bride, Colonel.”

            Colonel Brandon smiled, silently thankful for the opportunity given.

            “Yes, I do agree,” he said.

            She looked at them, embarrassed. She could not accept such a gift from him. It would give him the wrong idea, it would give him false hope. And she, she would not feel right. Not when she was not fully and truly his wife.

            “No, husband.” He was surprised at her calling him that. She was certainly trying hard to abide by his wishes of not being called Colonel Brandon by her. “You need not spend your money on such things. I don’t need it.”

            “But you want it.”

            “Do go finish your business.” She smiled to not seem so rude. “I wish to go to our lodgings.”

            He looked at her and saw she did not wish for him to insist on it. He looked at the shop owner and it was understood that they were not to press on the subject. And they returned to their business.

 

*****

 

            They had stopped at two inns already. She had stayed in the carriage while he went in to make the arrangements, but he had come out both times saying there were no vacant rooms. On the third time, however, he came out to lead the way to their rooms, the coachman following them with the trunks. When he showed her the room and she saw the coachman laying down not only hers, but his trunk by the door as well, she became slightly worried. When the coachman left, Colonel Brandon closed the door behind him with a thank you and turned to her, a concerned look on his face.

            “This was… the only available room. Forgive me, we will have to share. But worry not, I will sleep on the sofa, or on the floor.”

            She did not know what to say, but he noticed her countenance had softened a bit and she looked relieved.

            “I have to go back out for a while. I’ve arranged for dinner to be brought to the room. If by chance I am not back by then, please, feel free to eat without me.”

            And he left.


	5. The Magic of Bath

He came back when it was already dark out. She was in bed, but still awake, waiting for him.

            “You missed supper,” she said. He was a bit startled, for he thought she was asleep.

            “Yes. Forgive me. I ate elsewhere.”

            She was curious as to where he had gone, but she did not think she had the right to inquire him about it. She felt embarrassed to. Moreover, she was afraid of what the answer might be. He had been gone a long while. Long enough to… meet someone else. But would he do such a thing when he brought her along?

            She noticed he held two small parcels as he moved to his trunk to put them away. She wondered about those as well, but again, could not ask. He took out his nightshirt and looked around, wondering where he could change into it without offending her. He did not mind being seen, even with their odd arrangement of a marriage she _was_ still his wife, but she certainly would not wish to see him. Fortunately there was a folding screen behind which he could change. He went to it and she lay on her side, her back to him, to give him privacy. He washed up and changed and then stepped out from behind the screen, analyzing the room to see where he would sleep for the night. The sofa seemed too small to fit the whole extent of his body and would thus be uncomfortable. He took a pillow from the sofa and decided he would lie on the floor, on the rug, in front of the bed.

            “Well then, good night, Marianne.”

            “Good night,” she answered, still looking out the window, unsure if it was safe to turn.

            He blew out the candles and lay on his chosen spot. When the room was dark but for the light of the fireplace, she turned in bed and looked around to see where he was. Upon seeing him on the floor, his back to the bed, it was as if someone held her heart within their hands and squeezed it. He should not have to be on the floor, so uncomfortable. She was the one who had intruded on his trip. She was the one with all the demands. She could share the bed with him since it was only for one night or two. He would not attack her, force himself on her. He was not that type of man, despite the look in his eyes on their wedding night she so vividly remembered. He was a gentleman.

            She opened her mouth and was about to call him when she remembered his only request, not to be called formally by her. She did not know how she could call his attention if not to utter “Colonel Brandon”. She cleared her throat loudly, in hopes he would turn to her. He did not.

            “Uhm…husband,” she called out. It did not feel so bad. She could call him that. He was that, whether she liked it or not.

            “Yes?” He turned to her, his heart swollen with joy in spite of himself. It was the second time she called him that, and this time there was no one there to keep appearances for.

            “Uhm, you don’t… have to sleep on the floor. It must be very uncomfortable.”

            “I am fine, thank you for your concern.”

            “We can… share the bed.”

            “No, I wouldn’t want to make _you_ uncomfortable.”

            “It is no problem, really.”

            He sat up. “Are you sure?”

            “Yes. But it does not mean…”

            “Yes, I am well aware, Marianne.” He cut her off.

            She lay back down and pulled the covers up to her chin, further up than needed, it seemed, as if to protect herself. He stood and went around to the empty side of the bed, the side she had her back to. He lay over the covers, not only to reassure her, but to further help his restraint. He could not guarantee that he would not turn in his sleep to hold her during the night. It was a deep rooted wish of his after all, and it might be stronger than his self-restraint. He should have stayed on the floor; he would probably sleep more soundly despite the discomfort, with no worries.

            “Thank you” he uttered, and laid there staring at the ceiling, his hands on his chest, his fingers intertwined.

 

            He was almost awake. His eyes weren’t open yet, but he could feel the sunlight hitting his eyelids. He had slept better than he expected. Perhaps the simple fact of being next to her made that possible. He felt a weight on his hand, which rested on his chest. He opened his eyes and a shine blinded him. He moved his head to face away from the window, to face her, and then he could see what the weight he felt was. She slept soundly next to him, lying on her side, facing him. Her hand reached out and rested partly on his hand, partly on his chest. The blinding shine had been the sun reflecting off her wedding band.

            He lay very still as to not wake her. He did not wish for this to end. But this simple gesture of intimacy, one she had probably not even provoked knowingly, made him so swelled with joy that his heart hammered in his chest, under her hand, loudly. It even seemed it was beating in his ears. She would feel it, she would wake.

            Not long after, she began to move. He held his breath. Suddenly, her eyes were open. She looked at him, he still watched her, and she saw her hand on him. She quickly removed it.

            “Forgive me, I…”

            “Good morning,” he interrupted whatever apology she was about to make. He did not let the sadness that her repulsion of touching him caused seethe through.

            “Good morning,” she answered shyly.

            He turned his back to her and sat up, his feet gently touching the floor. He sat still for a moment.

            “What… what are you to do today?” She asked hesitantly.

            “I do not know. What _are_ we to do today?”

            “We?”

            “Yes, if you have no objections. I thought I could… escort you around town.”

            “I… I would enjoy that, yes. But don’t you have business to tend to?”

            He looked back at her and smiled.

            “No… those were finished yesterday.”

            “Then why did you say you would be three days?”

            “To have time to escort you through town.”

            He grinned, she smiled. He got up and went to his trunk.

            “I will change and get out of your way so you can… And I will wait for you outside.”

            She nodded and turned her back to him, so he could change. He went behind the screen anyway.

            “I’ll be downstairs then,” he said as he opened the door and closed it behind him.

 

 

            She came down looking absolutely beautiful in a light blue dress that brought out her eyes. She had the habit of wearing much simpler dresses when at home, so he was rendered breathless for a moment. He felt like the luckiest man in the world, having the honor of walking arm in arm with her around town. And that he did after they had breakfast.

            They walked all around Bath, her hand wedged in the nook of his arm, a feeling he cherished so much more since it was the closest he could get to her. They admired the architecture of various buildings, they walked through parks and admired nature, which she so loved to do. All the while they conversed quite a lot about all sorts of subjects. He tried to cheer her up, make her forget of the sadness she had felt only two days prior and it seemed he had succeeded, for she smiled and laughed openly with him. They stopped for lunch at the most divine restaurant. Marianne had never been to one. After lunch, they walked down the streets looking at shop windows.

            A midnight blue dress in a window caught her attention. It was very pretty, of very fine fabric, proper to be used at an assembly in the city or something of the sort. She stopped to admire it without much thought, and as he felt a slight tug on his arm, he stopped as well. He admired her countenance while she admired the dress, and he very much liked the look it brought to her eyes. He caught himself wishing she could someday look at him with such attention and desire. Well, anything that made her look like that was very well worth buying.

            He started to pull her towards the shop door, and she snapped out of her state of trance.

            “Where are we going?” She asked pulling him back a bit.

            “Inside. So you can buy that dress.” He smiled.

            “No, no, I was only…”

            He came very close to her and spoke quietly so passersby would not hear him.

“I do not understand this reservation you have of buying things for you, of allowing _me_ to buy something for you. Would it cause you so much revulsion, to wear something I gave you?” The smile he had worn only seconds before had faded and he looked grave yet somewhat desperate as he waited for an answer.

Her heart sank to perceive what he imagined she felt about him. He must think she loathed him, when it was nothing at all like that.

“No!” She said earnestly. “Nothing of the sort. I just do not wish you to spend your money on nonsense.”

He looked at her lovingly, he could not help it.

“Marianne, it is your money as well. I _am_ your husband, what is mine is yours. I do remember that being said at some point in the ceremony.” He smiled. “And it is my husbandly duty to not let you want for anything, especially something as basic as clothing.”

Her heart felt tighter in her chest. He thought of her well being, of his duties as a husband even though she did not do anything she must as a wife. He was truly the kindest man she ever knew.

“I wouldn’t have an occasion to ever wear it!”

“You can wear it tonight,” he said as he pulled her to the shop, smiling. She resisted no longer.

            “Tonight? What is tonight?”

            “A surprise.”

 

            Once again he was outside their room, waiting for her to get dressed. He felt awkward, and was starting to get notice from others who walked the halls. He knocked on the door, anxious. She opened it, absolutely ravishing in her new gown. His chin dropped when he laid eyes on her and she blushed. He noticed her cleavage, which this dress marked particularly well, and for a moment imagined what it would feel like to lay his head there.

            “Shall we go?” She asked with a shy smile, still blushing for he still gazed at her astonished. He was thus pulled out of his reverie.

            He could hardly contain himself, so he took her hand and pressed his lips to it, forgetting she might not like it, she might pull her hand away. But she did not.

            “You look absolutely wonderful.”

            She smiled. “Thank you.”

            He offered his arm and her gloved hand took it as he began to escort her downstairs.

            “May I know where we are going now?”

            “Yes you may. We are going to the theatre.”

            “Really? Oh, how merry!”

            He chuckled, glad he could cause her some joy.

 

            At the theatre, they sat in a box, shared with only one or two more couples. He sat directly behind her, and admired her as she watched the play. He looked at her neck and imagined him leaning in to smell it, to smell her meticulously pinned up curls. His lips would nibble on her earlobe and then make their way down the curve of her neck, kissing every inch. Her hand suddenly went to her earring, to adjust it, and in his reverie her hand went up to caress his head, her fingers sinking in his hair, encouraging his kisses.        She turned her head a bit and her cheek came into view. He would kiss it as well and make his way to her smiling, sweet lips.

            She looked back at him with a smile. The play had ended. He had seen nothing, only her. In the carriage ride back, she wished to discuss the play and he thought he did rather well considering he did not even remember what it was about. He could only sit across from her and smile. Smile because she smiled. Willoughby or his son surely did not cross her mind right now. Perhaps they hadn’t all day.

            He waited outside their room for her to change and after several minutes and many stares from people who roamed the halls, he decided to let himself in. Marianne was already in her nightgown, but still out of bed. He startled her and she ran to get under the covers. He looked away from her as he closed the door behind him.

            “Marianne, forgive me. I… I thought I had given you enough time,” he said, staring at a wall. “I can come back.” He was about to take his leave once more when she stopped him.

            “No, it’s fine. I’m ready. For bed.”

            He looked at her and she was making herself comfortable under the covers. He went to his trunk and pulled out his nightshirt, and proceeded to the screen.

            She felt a strange curiosity and did not look away this time. She watched his outline undress behind the screen, pieces of clothing being flung over the edge of it. His outline was lean, yet he seemed very strong. She wondered for a second what he would look like with no screen to shield him, and a strange warmth rose up in her, but she quickly shook that idea out of her head. He was done and he blew out the candle that sat behind the screen with him, which provided the shadow she was watching. He was about to step out from behind it, so she turned on her side, her back to where he was.

            He crossed the room and went to the empty side of the bed, which she faced.

            “May I?” He asked. She consented with a nod.

            He lay down over the covers and stared at the ceiling for a while. He could see out of the corner of his eye she still faced him and watched him. He would not be able to restrain himself, to sleep soundly like this.

            “Good night then” he said, and turned his back to her.

            Her hand suddenly touched his back, in between his shoulder blades.

            “Husband?” He heard her say, his heart pounding at the prospect of what was to come.

            “Thank you for today. I really enjoyed it.”

            He smiled. “It was my pleasure. I am really glad you did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure dresses could be bought in shops as such at the time, or if they were all tailored. So just call it poetic license. Hahaha.


	6. An Eye-Opening Gift

They journeyed back to Delaford the next day, after a relatively quick walk around town to see more details they might have missed during the previous day. The trip back was extremely pleasant, filled with stimulating conversation, much like the ones they had before they got married, before he proposed. The slight, constant awkwardness that had lingered since their wedding night despite their constant efforts to be civil and friendly had finally lifted, it seemed.

            They arrived at Delaford midafternoon, with enough time to wash up, change and rest a bit before supper. She emerged from her bedchamber for supper before he did, and sat down in the parlor to wait. She did not have to wait for too long, though, for he came down a few minutes later.

            The pleasant air about them continued through dinner, and afterwards they did something they had never done without company: they went into the drawing room for drinks and more conversation. After about three quarters of an hour, Marianne declared to be tired and that she wished to retire.

            “I will stay down her a bit longer,” he said. “Goodnight, Marianne.”

            His eyes had sparkled with delight for the last couple of days. His aim of banishing Willoughby from her mind had been achieved, at least for now, and he was thankful for the wonderful moments they had shared, even if they were still not as intimate and disinhibited as he would like them to be, as husband and wife who cared for one another should be.

            “Good night,” she replied, and started up the stairs.

            When she got to her bedchamber, she noticed two parcels on her bed, much like the ones she had seen him put away in his trunk on their first night in Bath. _She_ had not left anything there. She approached and saw a note on them.

 

_I hope you enjoy them._

 

            He had wished to sign it “love” or “yours for always, Christopher” but she had never called him by his Christian name, and did not enjoy declarations of his love for her, or any tenderness beyond what friends might have. So, he did not sign it at all, as to not have to lie and betray his heart.

            She was very much surprised, and considered not opening them, and returning them as they were. But her curiosity won the battle, and the fact that she did not wish to hurt his feelings and make him grave and distant as he had been since their wedding also played an important part in her decision. She remembered his pained expression as he asked her if wearing a gift from him was a repulsive notion to her.

            She opened one parcel. It was the necklace she had admired in the jeweler in Bath. A simple gold chain, a pendant with an “M” engraved on it. So he had gone back to acquire it. She smiled to herself as she placed it back in its box and opened the second one. This one was a bracelet, but one not simple at all. It had two rows of diamonds and a rather large sapphire in the middle.  It certainly had been very expensive.

 

_To wear with your new dress_

 

a note beneath the bracelet read.

            He had chosen the bracelet before she had bought the dress. That they went together rather beautifully was a happy coincidence. He had even considered giving it to her the previous night, so she could wear it to the theatre, but he was afraid she would make him return it. Now they were miles away from Bath, it was done, she would have to keep it.

            She hurried back downstairs, her gifts in hand, to find him in his study. Even by candlelight, for the sun had set already, he wrote letters and took care of finances, to make up for his leisure time in Bath.

            She knocked on the open door to call his attention. He looked up.

            “Husband,” she said gingerly, “what is this?”

            “I believe jewelry is the term most used.” He smiled.

            “I meant why did you buy it? I said there was no need.”

            “You wanted it. And I…” he stopped himself before he declared his love. “I wish you to be happy.” Saying he wished to _make_ her happy sounded presumptuous. “If there is something I can do to help that, I will not sit around idly.”

            She smiled. “Thank you. But this bracelet… I didn’t even see it there. It was not by my request that you purchased it.”

            “Do you not like it?”

            “I do. But it must have been too expensive.”

            “Do not worry, we can afford it.” He smiled again.

            As there was silence, he began to write once again.

            “You shouldn’t have,” she said.

            “I should have,” he said, still looking down at his quill and paper. “In fact, I will give you more jewelry from now on. And you should buy more whenever you see fit as well.”

            “Why?” She sounded alarmed.

            He looked up smiling. “Not only do I wish to please you, but they may prove themselves useful should I…”  His eyes saddened, she could see it clearly, and he became grave. “ _When_ I die.”

            She held back the gasp that came up to her throat, and swallowed dry instead. He could see she was confused.

            “For you to sell,” he explained.

            “What do you mean?” She still looked puzzled and could not quite conceal the alarm in her voice.

            “Even though I did make arrangements that I believe will make you comfortable,” he sighed, looking pained to have to discuss this, “without a… without a son, this estate will be entailed to someone else. I do not know if you can expect their kindness. With plenty of jewelry you can…sell them, should you need to.”

            “Oh…” Her jaw remained open, while she tried to process all he had said, tried to contain her shock.

            “In fact,” he opened a drawer in his desk, “you should…” he pulled out a bundle of folded, sealed papers and stretched them out for her to take “… keep this where you can find it, when you need to.”

            She remained immobile for a few minutes, and then finally reached to take it, her hand trembling.

            “Do you suffer from some illness I am unaware of?” She asked, a bit of indignation slipping through her shock.

            “What do you mean?”

            “You keep talking about _when_ I need it, as if you were sure you are to drop dead soon.”

            “Well, I am considerably older than you, it is only natural…”

            “I disagree,” she interrupted him. “I may very well go out in the rain and catch a fever again which would cause me to be gone before you. Then I will need nothing.” Her hands were still shaking though she tried to maintain her composure.

            He became very grave. “Do not even jest about that.”

            “I am not jesting, it could happen. It almost did once before.”

            “Well it won’t, I guarantee it. I won’t let it.” His countenance was still grave and severe, and he looked at her unblinkingly.

            She could no longer try to argue with him. She did not wish to vex him, and didn’t even know why she had replied like that in the first place. She could no longer string a sentence together, for her nerves were mounting and were close to overpowering her will. She looked at him in silence and he gazed back.

            “Right,” she said. “Well, thank you. For the gifts. I… I really like them.”

            “I’m glad.” A smile returned to his face, but she remained astounded.

            “Good night then,” she turned to leave.

            “Good night.”

            She rushed to her room, and with the door securely closed, she proceeded to her dressing room.

            She began to breathe heavily, her whole body trembling. She felt like she would suffocate, so she began to untie the front of her dress and then her stay, even though she still wore a dress over it. Then tears began to wash down her face. She placed the boxes and the bundle of papers on her dressing table as she sat down, trying to calm herself, still sobbing. She was pained, but not at the prospect of being poor again, of being once again dependent on the kindness of others if – _when_ , as he stated with such certainty – she was widowed. She could not bear the thought of him dying. Of no longer having his company, of not having him sit across from her at the dinner table. Even if it was to sit in awkward silence, as they had so many times in the past few months, she wished him to be there. His presence alone gave her a certain peace of heart. She did not wish him to die. She would miss him, she knew. As she had known she would if she were to refuse his marriage proposal and he grew embarrassed and distant.

            Tears still rolled down her cheeks and fell on to her bosom as she picked up the papers he had given her and broke the seal. As she read what he had arranged for her, the sobbing recommenced, for she held proof of his kindness and generosity, two traits that made him who he was, who she admired, two more reasons she would miss him terribly.

            She picked up the necklace he gifted her and put it on. As she looked herself in the looking glass, she touched the necklace, tracing it with her finger, around her neck, down close to her cleavage. No, she could not bear to think of such things. He would remain alive for many years to come, accompany her on many walks, rides and trips, share many conversations. She calmed herself, but found she had the sudden strong urge to go to him and embrace him tightly. She refrained, however, feeling that would be unwise.

            She took the papers and threw them in a drawer in her armoire, praying to God she would never ever have to touch them again.


	7. The Proper Mistress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE UPDATE!! *cheers*  
> I really shouldn't do this, but I was watching the Royal Wedding and... *sigh*. Since the only things close to a fairy tale in my life are these fics, I got the urge to update. So enjoy my crazy mood swings, people.

Marianne sat in the parlor with her sewing. She had already been to the kitchens and everything was underway for dinner. Her mother and youngest sister were at Delaford for a visit, but Mrs. Dashwood insisted on staying with Elinor, even though the manor had more room. In Mrs. Dashwood’s mind, she would not be much of a burden to Elinor, who had been married longer, as she would be for Marianne, who was relatively newlywed. Marianne had not the heart to tell her mother she would not be in the way at all for there was nothing to be in the way of, so she let it be.

            But they all were coming up to the manor for dinner, that they were, and Marianne wished to prove herself a competent mistress to that estate. At least that she could do. She had gained the will to do that, even though all ran rather smoothly without her and even though her husband hadn’t demanded anything of her, since she said all they had was a friendship and nothing more.

            She sat in the parlor thinking not all was lost, that she could still be more of a wife and mistress, and that with her husband’s friendship, company and understanding, they could be relatively happy together, when he came in. He held his arm close to his body, and his countenance told her he was in pain. He sat in a chair next to the sofa she occupied and sank in it.

            “Are you all right?” She asked, worried.

            “Yes, fine,” he said with his eyes closed.

            “I can see you are not! What happened?”

            “One of the dogs…” he sighed in pain, “attacked me.”

            “Oh my goodness!” She sounded alarmed. Perhaps much more than she ought to. But ever since they had had the conversation about her being widowed a few days past, the concern of something happening to him never fully left her mind.

            “Perhaps attack was too strong of a word.” He opened his eyes as his pain subsided a bit, and he tried to slowly move his arm. “The dog was just playing, poor thing, but it jumped on me and I did not foresee it. I tried to hold it, awkwardly, and that hurt my shoulder. That is all.”

            She put down her sewing and walked over to stand behind him. She reluctantly reached out her hand to touch his shoulder and stopped midway there. He did not turn to see what she was doing. Though he was curious, the pain spoke louder. She pulled her hand back a bit before she decided there was no harm in it, and her hand touched his shoulder. His heart skipped a beat, for he always had longed to feel her touch, and this was different from taking his arm when they walked in public together. She began to caress his shoulder, massage it and he slipped off into reveries, taking in each stroke, each moment her hand touched him.

            “Do you… want me to call the doctor?”

            “There is no need,” he answered slightly dreamily, still appreciating her caresses. His pain subsided further. “It is an old war wound. It hurts rather constantly.”

            “I can rub some ointment on it for you then,” she suggested rather innocently, with no thought.

            His mind conjured up the picture of her hands on his bare shoulders, running down his back, turning over his shoulders and running down his chest. He quite liked it. But then he remembered it would go no further than that, he should not kid himself. He could not bear to have her finally touch him and then stop it at that. He decided it was best to stop her while he was still master of himself. He did not wish to ruin the friendly sense of normality they had finally achieved. He took her hand and lifted it from his shoulder.

            “I would rather you didn’t.”

            It came out harsh, it was not his intention. He pulled on her hand so she would come before him and then he kissed it in an attempt to make amends.

            “You need not waste your time on such things.” He managed to smile. He stood with some difficulty for he could not support himself on the injured arm. “I will go soak in a warm bath. That should do it. I will be down in time for dinner.”

            “All right,” she answered as he walked out of the room.

            She was rather hurt by the way he promptly refused her touch, but managed to hide it from him. Then she thought she might be crazy. Why should she be hurt by such a thing when she did not care to touch him or to have him touch her? She tried to shake it from her mind but it remained in the back of her thoughts, gnawing at her, and a slight weight on her chest also indicated that the rejection had not been well accepted.

 

            Their dinner guests arrived and they all sat merrily at the table, conversing and eating with no other care in the world. Somewhere mid meal, before dessert was served, Elinor called everyone’s attention to her. And then, to everyone’s surprise, she announced she was with child.

            All the women cheered rather enthusiastically, as was the Dashwood way for the most part, and they began to fuss over the mother-to-be. Marianne, happy as could be, still smiling due to the news, looked across the table at her husband while her mother and Margaret showered Elinor with questions and happy wishes. She saw him congratulate Edward, who sat beside him, and though his lips smiled, there was much sorrow in his eyes. His eyes met hers momentarily, and he looked away at a painting over the fireplace, taking a sip of his drink and then trying to bring the smile back to his lips, so he could rejoin the conversation.

            She realized the sorrow in his eyes was not for Elinor and Edward’s news. It was for himself, who, thanks to her, would never experience the joy the Ferrars experienced this very moment. Her heart grew so heavy it seemed to sink to her stomach, and whatever wish she had to eat dessert left her instantly. His eyes met hers again, only this time, he managed to maintain contact and smile at her. She returned a timid, pained smile.

            As she watched her husband, she lost track of where the conversation went. She only came back to it when she heard Margaret say

            “Soon Marianne will also grant me a niece or nephew, and both your children can play together, and I can take care of them. Oh how joyous that will be!”

            All eyes were on Marianne and she did not know how to proceed, the pain in her husband’s eyes still weighing on her mind. She blushed furiously and remained silent trying to think how to respond. There would be no niece or nephew, no child or grandchild from her, but how could she explain that? Her husband must have noticed, for he said

            “Very joyous indeed,” with a wide smile, raising his glass, and saved her the trouble of answering. Everyone was pleased and turned to fuss over Elinor once more.

 

            The night came to an end, though not as quickly as Marianne had hoped after the full weight of Elinor’s announcement fell upon her. Arm in arm, Colonel Brandon and she waved their guests goodbye at their door. They went inside and still arm in arm, he escorted her upstairs.

            They arrived at her door. He looked down at her and smiled, and she could still see some pain in his eyes. She wished to say something but there was naught she could say.

            His hand, which had held itself steady against his stomach, supporting her arm, slowly slid down to his side, and her hand, which had been in the nook of his arm, slid down his arm slowly as well. As both arms relaxed, their fingers lightly grazed each other’s. It was then she felt a jolt of electricity run through her body and settle itself in the pit of her stomach. Their hands moved again and once again grazed one another, and she felt another jolt, only this time it settled lower down her body, making her flush, her cheeks turning crimson. She had never felt this before. She could not explain what it was. All her hairs stood on end.

            Their hands touched no more for he moved his away, and she felt the need to hold it again but restrained herself from grabbing hold of it.

            “Good night, Marianne.” And he turned his back and walked further down the hall. She watched, not quite wanting him to go, but not knowing what could be done or said to induce him to stay. He reached his door and as he opened it, he looked back at her and gave a small nod with a smile. She nodded back, and his door closed behind him. She stood in the empty hall, confused as to what it was she had just felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Margaret. Hahaha.


	8. Midnight Musings

She lay in her bed, alone in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. The look on his face, the pain in his eyes when Elinor announced she was with child, it haunted her. He certainly was thinking it would never happen to him, he would never know such happiness. She could not bear to see him like that. She did care for him and wished him well. But she was the cause of such pain. That made it all the worse. She had seen looks such as those before, though not since their trip to Bath. He had always tried to hide them, yet she always noticed, and it was always due to her.

            She could not understand why she could not completely open herself up to him and to his love. Love him. He certainly deserved more than what he was getting. He always cared for her, always gentle and attentive to her, to her needs, putting them before his own. He did not force her to marry him, she made that decision on her own, deceiving him, and now she wouldn’t… perform her duties. It seemed very unfair. Surely he would be gentle, as always. He claimed to love her, after all.

            But did he love her though? Still? He hadn’t said anything in quite a while. Of course she asked him not to, and he, as always, heeded her request. But perhaps he wasn’t just honoring her request. Perhaps in the meantime, with her keeping him at a distance, he grew tired, the love he felt for her died, and all that was left now was friendship, as she had always wanted. Perhaps that was why he was finally able to go back to acting normally around her, as he did when they were unmarried. She was not doing much to merit his love. She remembered how he had refused her touch earlier that evening.

            She found her heart ached at the thought of him not loving her any longer. She missed being told she was loved, hearing his sweet voice say it. It felt good to be loved. If felt good to be loved by him.

            Why could she not feel it for him? Because of Willoughby, still? He did not deserve her love, her thought, her pain. He certainly had not given her any thought. He did not give anyone but himself any thought. It was not only her he had hurt, he hurt Eliza, he hurt her husband, he hurt the child he fathered and refused to meet. Yet, there was still a corner of her heart that ached for him, that somehow still belonged to him, and she could not expel him from it. Colonel Brandon had loved before, and someone worthy of it, yet he managed to overcome all that happened and had loved silly little Marianne, and it felt like he had loved her with _all_ his heart, when he expressed it, when she had allowed him to. She had felt it.  And she threw that away because of someone absolutely unworthy, because of her stubbornness.

            She did not wish to cause her husband any more pain. She found very recently that ached worse than any corner of her heart that still had Willoughby in it. To cause pain to someone that has only brought her joy, it was horrible. She could not lie to him, say she loved him when she did not, especially since she did not even know if he still actually loved her. She might make a fool of herself. But she could do other things. She could be a wife. Make him as happy as was in her reach to. Other women did it every day, many with horrible husbands, husbands who forced them to. She had a gentle, caring husband, who respected her. A dear friend. It would not be so bad. Besides, she wished to know the happiness Elinor felt. She wished to be a mother as well. And there was no other way of making that happen.

            She lay still in her bed, trying to gather courage, and then she remembered his fingers grazing hers in the hall just minutes ago. She remembered the jolt that ran through her body, her hairs standing on end. They did so again just with the thought of it. She smiled. If she could feel that with him only touching her hand, it could be much better if he touched all of her, would it not? Her mind conjured up the image of his hands running up her arms and then down her back, pulling her close to him, and her whole body trembled. It was a cold night, but it was not the weather that made her hairs stand on end over and over again under her thick covers.

            She sat up and lit the candle at her bedside table. She would have to go to him now, before she lost her nerve. She got up and took the candle to her dressing room and paused to look in the mirror. She combed her hair, so she would look presentable. She looked at her ruffled old nightgown, not meant for anyone’s eyes, and decided to change. In her armoire sat a few nightgowns meant for married life, for her husband to see, nightgowns she had never worn.

            She chose a white one, with sheer fabric for the most part. It hugged her body tightly and she felt as if she wore nothing at all. The only part that was slightly more covered were her breasts, for lace hugged them, and the pattern did a bit more covering than the rest of the sheer white fabric. Luckily, there was a robe which went with it, hiding her figure somewhat better.

            She walked back out into her room and walked across it, holding her candle, to the door opposite her dressing room door. The door to his dressing room, which separated her bedchamber from his. She opened it without knocking, and found it all dark, all but for the light that shone from under the door to his bedchamber. So he was still awake. Good. She moved closer to the door, but then hesitated. Would he even still want her? Since she had denied him, he might have found… comfort elsewhere. During his business travels and such. The thought pained her, terrified her. She almost gave up, but his fingers grazing hers came to mind once more, rousing those gooseprickles, along with a smile she had to shake off.

            She took a deep breath to shun away the fear of having been replaced and took the final steps to his door. Standing before it, the hand holding the candle trembled. She lifted her other hand and swiftly rapped on the door.


	9. It Must Be A Dream

He sat in his bed, a book open over his lap, over the covers, as he read some poetry. It was a romantic poem; it was everything he felt for Marianne, all he wished to say to her but couldn’t. But he shouldn’t dwell on such things. He should be glad he at least was able to read now.

            He should be glad, for in the beginning he would lie awake at nights, wondering how he could win her over, where had he gone wrong. Wondering in anguish how the universe could be so cruel as to make him love someone so fervently, so deeply, so completely, someone who would not feel the same way for him. He begged the heavens to make it right, any higher power that would hear him. He often would catch himself thinking of her laying only a few doors away and despise the fact he could not hold her, he could not have her. When he could not contain himself, he would conjure up the picture of their wedding night in his mind, the nightgown she had worn and the shades and curves he could see through it. Though not much, for it was a very loose nightgown, it was the only such picture he had of her, the most of her he had ever seen, and his hand would wander down his body and give him what she wouldn’t. He would often feel badly afterwards, as if he somehow had violated her, but he was just a man. A weak, flawed man. But many weeks, a few months had passed and he learned to cope with it better. He could read now, distract his mind.

            He heard a soft but urgent knock on the door. It must be a servant. But at this hour? Some problem for him to resolve, probably. But he thought he had heard the knock come from his dressing room door. He must have misheard.

            He marked the page he was reading and closed the book on his lap.

            “Enter,” he said, expecting the door to the hall to open. Instead, the door beside his bedside table did.

            It was Marianne. She placed the candle she held on the table, next to the one that illuminated his reading, and shut the door behind her. She then just stood there, gazing at him, her words and her courage failing her.

            “Marianne?” He set his book on the table and threw back his covers, to stand and go to her. He was worried. Certainly something was amiss for her to come to him at this hour.

            “Are you well? What is the matter?”

            She remained silent as her eyes followed him until he stood in front of her, but at arm’s length. He noticed she was wearing the necklace he had given her. She had worn it every day since he had presented it to her, and that put a smile on his face. That she wore something _he_ had given her so constantly meant she really cherished it. But he didn’t know she wore it to bed as well. It was as if a piece of him slept with her. His heart swelled in his chest a bit before he came back to reality, to the matter at hand. As she was still silently staring at him, he moved to touch her elbows, shaking her gently.

            “Marianne?”

            She reached her hands up to his neck and swiftly pulled him down into a kiss. He did not reciprocate for a moment, puzzled as to what was happening, but his mind quickly told him to seize the opportunity that was presented to him. One hand cupped her face, his fingers in her hair, as the other slid down to her waist and pulled her closer. He deepened the kiss, reluctantly, but she did not object and his heart beat steadier again.

            It was a good, long kiss. Gentle yet passionate. It did not suffocate her as it had seemed to previously. It even aroused her. She could feel his body touching hers, and she felt as if her stomach was sinking for a moment, and then it pulled itself up again and seemed to float in her chest. This was very enjoyable. Why had she not liked it before?

            He broke off the kiss, letting go of her, still puzzled as to what was going on, fearing he would overstep and upset her. He did not know what to say, how to proceed. What had led her there? How far was she willing to go? He did not wish to ruin the moment or the newfound normalcy they seemed to have achieved in the past few days. So he stood there, looking at her, trying to think of what to say.

            The kiss had made her gain the final ounce of courage and certainty she needed. She wanted to give herself to him, she knew. But the courage to put that into words she had not found. She knew he would not act on his own, not after she had refused him. Perhaps… Perhaps she could show him.

            She slowly untied her robe with slightly trembling hands and let it fall to the floor. His eyes grew wider as he admired her. That same desire she had seen on their wedding night. Only now it did not scare her. It aroused her and made her feel an ounce of pride that she could awaken such… fire in him.

            The cloths over her body hid nothing at all, and he could see her curves, her breasts, the shade of her mound. The arousal he had successfully fought off so far as to not offend her hit him at once. He feared it would scare her off, but she did not move. She stood there looking at him, looking as if she felt quite vulnerable. He still did not know what to say or do.

            “Do I… do I not please you?” She asked shyly.

            He took a step closer. He wished to touch her but he dared not.

            “More than you can imagine. You are stunning. But… are you… sure you want this?”

            There he stood, his eyes looking at her with a hunger deeper than the one she had seen before and his arousal very poorly concealed by his nightshirt, and yet he stopped to think of her and her well being. She smiled.

            “I am.”

            He was curious as to what had brought about this change of heart. Did she love him? Was it just lust? Perhaps her sister’s news that evening had brought the need of being a mother herself, and he was just being used for his seed.  This was not the time for inquiries. He stepped closer, pressing his body against hers. He made a silent prayer to any deity that would hear him that she please enjoy this. He took a moment to smell her hair, take it in, and imprint her scent on his memory. His lips moved, parted, from her temple to her earlobe, down to her neck and he paused to kiss it. The feel of his hot breath on her neck, of his gentle kisses, made her knees go weak. She thought she would fall, so her hands went to his shoulders for support, but he was already sweeping her into his arms. He carried her to his bed and laid her where he had sat, where the sheets were already warm. He paused to admire her once more and to see if she would have no sudden objections. He still could not believe this was happening.

            As he admired her, she blushed and smiled. It was all the sign he needed. He got into bed with her and began to sweetly kiss her lips. His lips journeyed back to her neck and she thanked heavens she was in bed, for this time she would certainly have fallen down were she standing. His kisses made her hairs stand on end. His touch made jolts of electricity run all over her body. She could feel his stiff manhood against her and even though his nightshirt and her nightgown worked as thin barriers, the feel of him made her more aroused.

            He continued to gently kiss her lips and she thought she could stay there all night, forever, just doing that, feeling his lips on hers, his tongue caressing hers, making up for all those months she could not – she would not - enjoy his kisses. But as her nightgown slid up her thighs and his manhood touched her sex, suddenly just kisses did not seem to be enough.

            He rolled off her, to her side, all the while still kissing her lips and her neck. She gripped his waist, wishing to pull him back over her, to feel him against her again. She now felt his stiffness against her thigh. One of his hands slid down from her cheek, over her breasts, down past her waist and to her thighs, pushing her nightgown further up. His hand gliding over her made her whole body quiver. It traveled up her body once again, and excitement filled her being. She could barely contain herself any longer. And once more, it traveled down her body slowly, driving her insane, and then up her inner thighs, all the while his lips interlocked with hers. His hand found her mound and caressed it gingerly before parting her with two fingers, to rub her nub. She parted from his lips to gasp, an overwhelming feeling of excitement washing over her. As pressure began to build in her sex, she cupped his face and kissed him deeply, a sort of silent display of gratitude. He broke the kiss and went back to kissing her neck and collarbone. This left his ear close to her lips and he could feel her heavy breathing as she gasped and moaned softly, showing her pleasure.

            But she needed more. She did not quite know what it was, but she wanted more. She wanted to feel his manhood once more. How could he be so patient after months of her refusal, and she could not take it any longer? As his hand continued the task that pleasured her so, she accidently let slip through her lips a whisper into his ear.

            “I want you,” she said, and he pulled away from her neck to look into her eyes and smile.

            “You have me,” he answered, never stopping his performance.

            She quickly realized what she had said and pulled her hand away from his shoulder, clasping it to her mouth, in shock. He kissed her neck and her cheek, all while his hand still rubbed her, and she whimpered in delight. Her whimpers, however, were muffled by her unmoving hand.

            His hand left her sex and went up to her wrist, to pull her hand away from her mouth, for he wished to kiss her. As he pulled her hand, she said

            “I did not mean to…” but he kissed her lips, interrupting her.

            Her hand rested once again on his shoulder, and she briefly forgot the shock of what she had said. Their lips parted and he asked

            “You did not mean to what?” He asked sweetly.

            “To be improper,” she answered shyly.

            He smiled and kissed her once more.

            “Marianne, it takes two people to do this.” He kissed her again, suckling on her lips and prompting her to moan in his mouth. “Forget anything you were told about impropriety. You can… no, you _must_ express yourself as freely as you always have.” He kissed her cheek. “I need to know what pleases you,” he whispered in her ear. “So feel free to say, touch, do whatever you feel like doing.”

            His hand was trailing its way back down to her privates, but with his speech she gained a little courage to ask for what she wanted. So she grabbed his buttocks and pulled his hips closer to hers, trying to indicate that she needed him inside her now. He smiled and rolled back on top of her, kissing her lips. He then pulled away to lift up her nightgown and pull it off her.

            He knelt on the bed, in between her thighs, and admired her bare body. He wished to sketch her, if he could, so he would never forget the sight of her like this. He did not know if this would ever happen again, if he would ever see her like this, be so intimate.

            “Is something the matter?” She asked.

            “No.” He smiled. “Nothing at all.”

            He pulled off his nightshirt, not being able to take it any longer, feeling he could explode at any minute. She watched intensively, waiting for his hands to free up so they could return to her body.

            She had not expected that the sight of him bare could make her more excited, but it did. He had strong arms and broad shoulders that could give comfortable and reassuring embraces, she imagined. His stomach was lean and his thighs also strong. She even forgot his age and whatever reservations it had caused her. She just wished to feel him against her.

            He looked into her eyes and saw desire burning there as she watched him. He felt happy that she could look at him in such a way. She reached out her hands and caressed his chest, then let them slide down to his waist, trying to pull him closer.

            He laid on top of her once more, his lips on her breasts, licking her, arousing her. Her sex had so much pent up pressure she felt like it would burst. He lifted one of her legs and held her knee next to his waist as he gently and slowly guided himself into her. Her fingertips sank into his waist as she pulled him close. She gasped in pleasure and rolled her head back into his pillows.

            “Are you all right?” He asked, as he slowly moved inside her.

            She smiled and nodded vehemently.

            He was happy as he never thought he would be. She seemed to be enjoying herself as much as he was. He watched as she smiled looking up at him and rolled back her eyes and head. As she looked back at him, her eyes focused on his lips.

            “Kiss me,” she said. Before she could worry about her boldness in making demands, his lips touched hers, heeding her order.

            He wished to tell her he loved her so, but he dared not. He still did not know what had brought her to him and if their other agreements were to be forgotten. He feared he could ruin the moment. Meanwhile, the only coherent thought she could form was why oh why had she not agreed to this sooner? It felt so good. _He_ felt so good. To think she could have been enjoying this for months now, hadn’t she been so foolish.

            “Oh, Christopher!” She let out, as her eyes rolled back in her head. He froze for a moment. To hear her call him by his given name somehow made him feel closer to her than even making love to her did. Her giving into him could be purely due to physical needs, but calling his name was something she could continue to refuse, to keep him at a distance. If she called it, it was because she truly wished to. It was something so simple, but it filled his heart with joy. Could she love him?

            She cupped his face in between her hands.

            “Christopher, please. Don’t stop. Please, Chris, keep going.” Her fingers combed through his hair as she desperately looked him in his hazel eyes.

            And he began to move once again, smiling before he kissed her lips. Her hands reached down and her fingertips ran lightly from his firm buttocks to his waist to his shoulder blades, making him quiver on top of her. She smiled, and lifted a leg, supporting her foot on his behind. He held up her knee higher, against his chest, and leaned down to kiss it, his movements growing more rapid. Suddenly, all the pressure that had been building up inside her washed over her in a tidal wave. She grabbed his shoulders, her nails sinking into him as she let out

            “Oh yes, Christopher, yes!”

            He smiled, enjoying the fact that his name was so sweet to her lips now. His pleasure followed hers, but he lingered on top of her, kissing her lips and cheeks, whatever his lips could reach, never wanting it to end.

            He finally rolled to her side, and she remained with a smile on her face, her eyes closed. He did not know if he could cuddle her, or if he showed too much love, she would shy away. So he watched her, restraining himself from holding her.

            “Well, I guess I should…go and get some sleep,” she said, moving to get up.

            “You could…” his hand reached her waist and held her still for a moment “… stay. If you wish to. Sleep here.” She looked back at him over her shoulder and he immediately let her go, in fear of having overstepped. She smiled and turned to face him completely.

            “I _am_ awfully tired. Perhaps I will stay,” she said, as she made herself comfortable lying beside him and closed her eyes.

            He pulled the covers over her and leaned over her to blow out the candles that flickered on the table beside her. The only light in the room now was that of the fireplace, crackling at a distance, in front of the bed.

            “Marianne” he called softly. There was no answer.

            “Marianne?” he whispered once more. Her breathing had slowed down. She was sound asleep.

            “I love you,” he whispered. “With all my heart and soul, I love you.”

            It had been pent up in his chest all night, he had to let it out. He now longed for the day he could say it freely to her. Would it ever come?

            He kissed her forehead softly and lay on his side, at a safe distance from her, and watched her, smiling, until he fell asleep himself.


	10. A Most Glorious Day

He woke up with a smile on his face. He hadn’t slept this well in months, ever since they had gotten married. Perhaps years even.

            Ever since she had agreed to marry him, all he had dreamt of, prayed for, was waking up next to her, and here he was. He looked to his side and saw she slept peacefully, a hint of a smile on her lips as well. He turned to face her, his hand supporting his head as he watched her. He now wished to touch her, caress her soft porcelain skin, drown himself in her hair, kiss her awake. But he would not dare to. Her reasons for being there, for going to him like this, were still a mystery. He did not know if his caresses or his love were welcome or not. He did not wish to cling to her, show her too much love, suffocate her and push her away. Perhaps all she felt was desire, lust, and would use him only for that. He had no problems with it. It was better than no contact at all. He just wished this could continue, that it was not a onetime event. At least while they were intimate, there were ways to demonstrate his affection, unburden his chest, and they would go unnoticed by her. Yes. Whatever this was, it was much better than what they had had before.

            She moved and he froze, afraid she would wake and see he had been watching her, but she did not. She looked so beautiful there in his bed, her hair unfastened and disheveled, the morning light touching her skin. He could not contain himself, so he lightly ran his knuckles over her cheek. That prompted her to move once more, and he quickly pulled back his hand. She opened her eyes, and shyly smiled at him.

            “Good morning,” he smiled, his heart pounding in his chest like it hadn’t in a very long time. It felt stronger, healthier, mended.

            “Good morning,” she answered shyly. Now that the effects of her sudden surge of courage had faded, and the events that had followed it had passed, she felt embarrassed of how forward she had been. But she did not regret it, not at all. It had to be this way. After she had refused him, he wouldn’t have come to her, though she sometimes had foolishly feared it. She needed to be forward. What she did regret was not having done this sooner, of having refused him in the first place. She quite enjoyed being with him and could not quite remember what her reservations had been.

            “Did you sleep well?” He asked, still uncertain as to how he was to proceed to not ruin this.

            “Yes. You?” She felt the urge to pull herself closer to him, to embrace him, but refrained.

            “Quite well, yes.” He smiled.

            There was a moment of silence and she began to sit up.

            “Well… I should go… get dressed for breakfast then.” She pulled the covers up and held them over her breasts, covering herself as she looked around on the bed and the floor for something.

            He smiled at her embarrassment, seeing as he had seen all there was to see the previous night. He stuck his hand in between the pillow he had slept on and hers and produced her nightgown. He had slept on it all night, to be able to smell her, since he was not sure if he could embrace her or not. He handed the fine cloth to her, wishing he could bring it to his nose one last time before he did.

            “Oh, yes, thank you,” she said.

            She let go of the covers so she could pull on the nightgown over her head. He watched with his head still propped on his hand. The covers slid down and he saw the side of her breast before the nightgown came down to cover it. It was enough to make him want to take her again right there. The truth is, she would not have minded at all.

            She stood up and walked over to the robe that still lay on the floor. He watched as she bent down to pick it up. That nightgown was of no use at all, it was as if she were completely bare. He wanted to tear it off her body. But he had to focus on something else. She had her hand on the doorknob of his dressing room door.

            “So I will see you down at breakfast?” He called out before she left.

            “Yes,” she smiled over her shoulder and disappeared into his dressing room.

 

 

            He was ready before she was. He considered knocking on her door to escort her downstairs but thought perhaps that would be too desperate. He went down alone and sat at the breakfast table, waiting for her.

            She came down and he immediately stood up. She was breathtakingly beautiful, even more so than she had always been, it seemed. The truth was she had gone out of her way to look more presentable to him. She took joy in it now.

            She sat down and he could not hold his tongue.

            “You look wonderful today.”

            “Thank you,” she said as pink spread on her cheeks.

            While breakfast was served and for minutes after that, there was an awkward silence. But it was a different brand of awkward, not like the awkwardness that had usually been felt in their household. It was a pleasant kind of awkward, a happy kind.

            “How is your shoulder,” she decided to ask.

            “Hum?” He did not remember what she was talking about, for he was lost in reveries about the night they shared.

            “Your shoulder, Christopher. The dog hurt it yesterday, remember?”

            His stomach lifted to his throat in happiness upon hearing his name escape her lips yet again, so naturally. So it seemed at least that development was here to stay.

            “Oh, yes. It is fine. Now it hurts no more than it usually does. Thank you for asking.”

            She wished to offer to rub ointment on it again, but was afraid to get the response she had gotten the previous night.

            “I should be on my way,” he said. “There are a few complaints to solve down at the village.”

            She looked up from her plate rather disappointed. She had hoped to spend the day with him by her side, though she did not have the courage to ask. If she were to be completely honest, she wished to spend the whole day in bed with him.

            “I should be back by lunch,” he said, hoping he had not misread the disappointment in her eyes.

            She smiled. “All right. Have a good day.”

            He wanted to kiss her lips, but once again, feared being too suffocating to her. She wished to kiss him, but felt heavily embarrassed now. After all her foolishness of refusing him and keeping her distance, she all of a sudden, with no rhyme or reason, needed his touch, longed for his caresses, craved his kisses and embraces.

            “You as well,” he said.

            It would not be nearly as good as it would were they together, they both thought.  

            Marianne took the morning to perform her chores. And whatever it was she was doing, be it sitting with the servants and writing up a list of what was needed in the kitchen, knitting socks for her unborn niece or nephew, sewing buttons on her husband’s waistcoats, she would every now and then close her eyes and lose herself in memories of the previous night. A shiver would run down her spine and all her hairs would stand on end as she relived his hands touching her; a smile would inadvertently come to her lips as she remembered his kisses; butterflies would flutter about her stomach and warmth would rush to her cheeks and neck as she remembered their closeness and intimacy. She wished for more of it.

            He came home for lunch and found she was not yet at the table, as she usually was. She sat in the parlor, sewing buttons on one of his waistcoats. He stopped by the doorway and leaned on it to watch her. He often did so, while she carried on her activities, just to gaze and smile at her. To let his love seethe trough his eyes with no worries of being reprimanded. He especially liked to do it as she played the pianoforte, but it was rather hard, considering the instrument faced the door. This time, she felt his presence though, and turned to catch him off his guard.

            “Oh, good, you are home.” She smiled up at him. “I have been waiting. I’m starving.”

            He smiled wider than he had been smiling before. He didn’t remember her ever waiting for him. She stood before him now.

            “Have you been there long?”

            “Not long,” he tried to maintain his composure and his secret, but she smiled in a knowingly way.

            “Shall we, then?” He offered his arm to escort her into the dining room. She gladly took it, for she had been longing for his touch all morning.

            When they finished their meal, he announced he would be in his study should she need him, though in truth he would have gladly sat with her for the rest of the day. But once again he waited for some sign from her that she would like that, and she did not offer any, still embarrassed and confused about her sudden change of heart. She had caused so much sorrow for the past few months for some foolish reason she could barely recall.

            He went to his study and searched for something to do. She wanted to find a way to be close to him, but could not find a reason, an excuse, to go into his study and bother him. She had refused to have tea with her mother and sisters that afternoon when they dropped by in the morning to invite her, in the hopes she would have a chance to be alone with him. She needed to think of something.

            She went to the pianoforte and left the door to the music room open. He often appeared to watch her, even when she had wanted to be alone with her thoughts. That was when she started to play with the door closed. But that was not the case today, nor would it ever be again, it seemed.

            She pulled from her memory songs which seemed to bring him around the most, and began to play one. He heard from his study and stopped doing whatever it was he had found to do. He wished to go to her, but what if she wanted to be alone? He did say she could come to him if she wished to, but she did not express anything to him. She played a second song and he heard from his study still, though now his feet had carried him to stand by the door. She began to become frustrated with the fact that he would not come, and entered a third song. It was the song she played when he first saw her. Of course she did not remember that, but he could no longer resist it. His feet carried him to the music room and he stood by the door and watched her. She smiled upon seeing him. Her goal had been reached.

            “Did my playing disturb you?” She asked when the song had finished.

            “No, it never could.” He remained at the door, distant.

            “Won’t… won’t you play something?” She asked shyly, looking for a reason to keep him there.

            “No, I would be in your way.”

            “You would not.” She got up and sat on the bench beneath the window, behind the instrument. “I wish to hear you.”

            He smiled and walked over to the piano and sat down. He began to play and it was not the bleak music he usually did when he found the music room unoccupied. Today he played something rather cheerful.

            She watched his back as he played, the sun shining in on him. She enjoyed and respected all forms of art, and he played beautifully, as always, but she thought _to hell with the arts_ , for she wanted to interrupt him and embrace him, kiss him and ask him to take her upstairs. He could finish the song later. But she refrained.

            She got her wish, at least in part, for they remained together the rest of the afternoon. She proposed they learn a duet and that they did until it was time for dinner. Their closeness drove them both insane. They wished to hold one another, but refrained from it in fear of the other’s reaction.

            They were to go to Elinor’s and Edward’s that night, and after they changed, they set off to a wonderful walk to the parsonage.

            However well they thought they had kept appearances up until now, apparently it was not well enough, at least not to the well trained eyes of the young, for upon arrival, Margaret commented

            “What happened, Marianne? You look rather cheerful today.”

            “Do I not every day, Margaret?” she asked, blushing.

            “No, not like this.”

            “Then it must be because I am so happy for Elinor,” she managed to save herself from further inquiries.

            Her husband looked at her and smiled widely, and she blushed to a darker shade of red.

            Elinor waited for an opportunity and pulled Marianne away from the chatting family members.

            “Marianne, I have been meaning to talk to you for a while now, but could never… but since Margaret mentioned, I… Is all well? You haven’t been quite yourself for a long time now, but when you accepted the Colonel’s proposal I thought… but then you seemed to continue rather distant and not completely cheerful. Today, today you look more like your old self. Has something been amiss? You can talk to me.”

            Marianne blushed profusely. So she wasn’t as able at keeping appearances as she had thought. “No, not at all,” she tried.

            Elinor knew her sister to be stubborn. It was why she had feared saying something these past months. If she said something, it might make Marianne shy away even more, so stubborn she was.

“Dearest, I’m sure the Colonel is a good man, and he cares for you deeply, if you would only open up to him and… let go of the past, then perhaps you could… you both could, be more content.”

“Elinor, I assure you dear sister, all is well. There is no need for you to worry.”

Marianne’s shyness and reserved manner did not do much to convince Elinor. The true Marianne would shout her love and happiness on roof tops. But Elinor did not push her. She at least looked more cheerful today. Something must be better at last.

Edward at least had the decency of making his remarks away from other’s ears, unlike Margaret.

            “You know, you two do look rather different. Perhaps you have some news to share, like the one Elinor and I did? Forgive me if I have figured out the surprise.”

            “Oh no, nothing like that.”

            “Then why are you grinning at the wind, my friend?”

            Colonel Brandon chuckled.

            “Simply because I am married to the most wonderful woman in the world.”

           

            Since it was not their table, instead of sitting opposite each other, Colonel Brandon and Marianne sat side by side. He fought the urge to take her hand under the table numerous times, and reveled whenever their elbows touched during dinner.

            The evening came to an end and they walked home, arm in arm. She took the opportunity to snuggle closer to him, since it was the longest they had touched all day and she could not quite take it any longer. She smiled shyly up at him and his heart leapt in his chest.

            When they were almost home, she stepped in a hole hidden amidst the grass and twisted her ankle. He heard a small cry and felt her tug on his arm as she tried to keep her balance and he swiftly turned and picked her up in his arms. With her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with his hair, she said

            “I am fine, Christopher,” as he carried her to the house. “Your shoulder, it will feel worse.”

            “My shoulder is of no importance.”

            When they arrived, he entered the parlor and sat her on the sofa. He took off her shoes and laid her feet on his lap, gently feeling the one she had twisted. She winced in pain.

            “Fine, are you?” He lifted an eyebrow.

            “Well, it is not broken, is it?” She smiled.

            “No.”

            “Then I am very fine indeed.”

            He massaged her foot for a while, until she stopped wincing in pain. She smiled looking at him, so absorbed by his care for her that she did not even remember that it was in similar circumstances that she had first met Willoughby. Willoughby was the furthest thing from her mind. As her pain subsided, she began to feel excitement in his touch.

            “Can you walk?” He asked, and he rose to help her up.

            She took his hands and rose as well, putting weight on her foot. She still winced, but said “yes, slowly.”

            He looked at her reproachfully and picked her up once again. As he carried her up the stairs, she tenderly said “There is no need for this, Christopher, really. I can walk,” though she rather liked being in his arms.

            Every time he heard her lips utter his name now, all the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he couldn’t help but smile. He opened the door to her room and took her to her bed. After he had sat her on it and had taken his hands off her, she held one and said thank you. He looked down at her, lusting for her body, wishing to stay, craving, at the very least, to kiss her lips goodnight, but he refrained from being so bold. He only smiled as he said

            “Goodnight, Marianne.”

            He turned and headed for the open door. She could not bear to see him go. She took a deep breath, finding once gain the courage she had found the previous night and blurted out

            “Christopher, where do you think you are off to?”

            He turned around with a smile and saw she had outstretched her hand, beckoning him to her bed.

            “To… close the door?” He asked with a smile and an uplifted eyebrow.

            “Yes, please do that,” she said as she began to unpin her hair.


	11. Growing Closer

Nearly a fortnight had passed since they had started this new arrangement. The awkwardness had died down to a minimum. Colonel Brandon had decided to not ask questions and just enjoy his newfound happiness, for it was more than he could have ever imagined since the harsh truth had hit him on their wedding night. He would be cautious and follow her lead, as to not overwhelm her in anyway, which could take them back several steps, back into a marriage made of mere friendship and appearances. But the same question still troubled his heart from time to time, always weighing in the back of his mind. Could she ever truly love him? Love him as he loved her? Lust, she certainly felt. Both of them did.

            The only thought that troubled her was if he still loved her, or had months of her refusal and harshness made it all go away? Would she ever hear him say it to her again? Or was what they had now merely physical, was he only taking advantage of her sudden urge? She did not understand why this bothered her though. She herself was taking advantage of him, was she not, since she did not love him? No. She could not claim to love him, no, nothing so strong, but she did not think that what she felt for him was merely lust. No, there was something more there. She enjoyed his friendship as well. She always had, long before their physical relationship had started.

            But it seemed very selfish to want him to profess love when she was not willing to reciprocate. She did not know what she felt, she only knew she now enjoyed his touch, his caresses, his kisses, in addition to his company. But love it was not. It could not be. She, however, missed being told how much he loved her and being spoiled with flowers and sweet words as he had done during their betrothal. She sounded like a selfish child, she thought.

            He had some leisure time before dinner and decided to go to the library to read. She had gone out into the back garden, despite the mildly cold weather. He saw her through the window while he was in his study. He wished to go and join her, but was afraid he would intrude somehow. So to the library he went.

            She came back inside after she saw through the window he was no longer in his study, where he could watch her. She too wished he would go after her, but remained slightly apprehensive of this need she had to be with him now. And the doubts in her mind about whether or not he still loved her did not help. She searched for him throughout the house, doing all she could to refrain from calling out his name like she wished to, and found him in the library, reading.

            “Why did you not join me outside? It was very lovely out there,” she managed to ask despite her apprehension. She stood at the library door and spoke to the back of his head.

            He turned with a smile. “I was not sure if you wished for company or not.”

            She did not know how to respond. Of course she wanted company, _his_ company. But she _had_ given him signals that indicated otherwise in the past. Could not all of that be overcome now they were intimate as man and wife should be?

            He turned back to his book as she remained silent. She stepped forward.

            “Do _you_ wish to be alone?”

            “I always enjoy your company, no matter what I am doing,” he said with his head turned once more. He smiled and turned back to his book.

            She walked over to the sofa he sat on and sat next to him, but at a certain distance. Their physical contact outside the bedroom was very restricted still, due to the apprehensions which haunted each their minds. That was the only thing, in fact, that could still be considered highly awkward. Even after their passionate nights, they would sleep apart, though in the same bed. When they woke up in the mornings, if there was any contact between them, it was fruit of subconscious desires, exteriorized involuntarily while they slept. He, though wishing to hold her every hour of everyday, was abiding by his self-set rules of letting her take the lead. She had that awkwardness and confusion about her sudden change of heart. Would her touch be welcome? Would it give him any false hope or wrong impressions? _Would it make her feel something she was fighting back hard not to feel?_

            “Would you… read to me? As you used to?” She asked shyly.

            He looked up from his book, his heart thumping in his chest, and smiled.

            “Gladly. What would you like me to read?”

            “Whatever you are reading is fine.” She smiled.

            He took a deep breath, trying to take in courage, for what he read was a love poem, the kind he would like to recite to her from his heart. He tried to be nonchalant and began his reading.

 

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

 

                She wondered if his passion while reading was only due to his love of literature, or if he felt what he read, even remotely, towards her. She wished to come closer to him, feel his embrace. This was silly. He was her husband, she could embrace him if she so wished. They were alone. And she would have to be the one to try and push away this awkwardness, take the first steps, since she was the one who had banned his advances at first. She hoped he would not refuse her now. She would feel pain close to what he had felt when she shunned him, she imagined.

                She sat closer to him as he read. After a few lines, she rested her head on his shoulder and read from the book as well, while she heard him. His heart seemed like it would rip through his chest and his voice failed him for a moment. Then he smiled, surprised at her rapid evolvement in such a short period of time.

                He finished the poem, both hands still holding the book, though he wanted to hold her. He was about to turn the page when her hand came to rest on his thigh and caress it, her head still perched on his shoulder.

                “Does… this bother you?” She asked, her heart beating fast, a mixture of fear of his response and excitement of being close to him.

            He chuckled as he let go of the book with one hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

            “Not in the slightest.” He kissed her forehead.

            Relief washed over her. She turned the page for him as he held the book with his free hand, and he proceeded with the reading.

 

*******

 

Dinner came and went and they headed upstairs. She opened her bedroom door and entered as he followed automatically. Other nights he had waited for her invitation. On the few nights in which it had not come, he would go to his room, wash up and change into his nightshirt, and as soon as he got into bed, before his mind could go to places of worry her desire and his happiness might have outrun its course, on most of those nights, he would hear her knock on his door.

But today he just absent mindedly followed her in and shut the door behind him. He let himself get carried away by the afternoon’s developments and hugged her from behind, smelling her hair and them proceeding to kiss her neck and nibble on her earlobe. He did not see it, but she smiled widely at this. He turned her to face him and began to lightly kiss her lips. She kissed him back, but soon stopped him.

“Christopher, I am very tired. Would you mind if we simply slept tonight?” She said with a half-smile on her face.

He stepped away from her but did not let go of her hands.

“Of course.” He bowed and pressed his lips to both her hands, one after the other. He was worried, but he hid it well. It was only natural to not lust for physical acts every night, so she could really just be tired. But could she be growing tired of him already?

“Goodnight, Marianne,” he said as he let go of her with a smile and walked towards his dressing room door.

“Where are you going?” She cried out.

He stopped before the door and turned to face her.

“To my bedchamber… to sleep,” he said, a little puzzled.

“I… I meant sleep, but together.” She looked hurt. “But if you prefer… it’s, it’s no problem, it’s fine. Goodnight then.”

She started towards her dressing room and he rushed after her, seizing her arm and swiftly turning her to face him. He embraced her and kissed her lips deeply.

“Forgive me. I had not understood your intentions, Marianne. I – I will be right back then.”

She was pleased, smiling and he proceeded to his dressing room. When he came back, she was already lying under the covers. As he approached the bed, she pulled the covers back for him to get in bed. They lay separately for a moment, he on his back, she on her side, facing him.

“I was thinking,” she said, and he looked at her, “we could…” she moved closer to him, placing her arm over his stomach and resting her head on his chest. His heart beat faster and swelled with joy as he embraced her and could once again smell her unfastened curls, in which half his face was happily sunken into. “We could… share a bedchamber.”

Upon his silence, she looked up at him, and he looked back at her and could not hide his shock. She smiled.

“What? We are sharing a bed everyday anyway, it is not logical to occupy two rooms.” She snuggled closer to him and he smiled into her hair. “Besides, I found I rather enjoy your company for sleep as well.”

He stroked her hair.

“I have absolutely no objections to sharing a bedchamber with you, my dear.” He kissed the top of her head.

He let _my dear_ slip his lips and froze for a moment once he realized it, fearing he had gone too far. But all she felt was relief, for she had feared he would not consent to the idea.

“Wonderful.” She smiled as she caressed his stomach and her hands slid up to his chest. “What room should we take then?”

“Well, this bedchamber here is the best one in the house, that is why it is yours. It is fit for a queen. You, being the queen you are, should not be made to leave it, I think.”

She smiled as she heard a hint of the sweet words he used to have for her return. She missed hearing them.

“It is settled then. This is our bedchamber now. Ours. You should vacate the other one immediately.”

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “Yes, Madam.”

She turned her back to him. “Good night, Chris.”

He watched her back in silence for a moment, puzzled as to what had happened to her these past few weeks. Were his prayers all being answered at once? Intimacy, sharing her bed. Caresses. Being able to say sweet words to her without causing her revulsion. All he could wish for now was her love, and being able to profess his.

She reached her hand back and pulled his over her waist. He smiled and turned, his chest to her back, embracing her completely. He felt her breathing slow down.

“Marianne,” she heard him call. She wanted to respond but her lips and throat did not obey. They seemed to have fallen asleep before her brain had. She was oh so very sleepy.

“Marianne?”

Not even her eyes would open. She wished to squeeze his hand, which was in hers, to let him know she heard him, but she did not find the strength. But here, in the silence of their bedchamber, in the calmness of her state, she was fully appreciating how sweet it was to hear him call her name.

“I love you, my Marianne” she heard whispered in her ear, than a kiss to her cheek she felt. Even in her state of slumber she smiled, her heart filling with warmth to know she had not lost his love after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sonnet is Sonnet 18, by William Shakespeare.
> 
> And just so it is completely clear, he only said he loved her cause he thought she was asleep. :)


	12. Confidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you all for the comments and kudos. They always make my day and motivate me to post the next chapter.
> 
> Be warned that this chapter is naughty :)

He dreamed of her. Her lips gently touched his, then made their way down to his neck. “Christopher” she called in a hushed voice. She ran her fingers through his hair, and then her warm, soft hands slid down his chest, past his stomach, down to his manhood. She caressed his length as her lips played with his earlobe. “Chris,” she called again, and he felt her warm breath on him. He wanted to respond but could not, his state of slumber so deep it prevented him.

            Then he felt the warmth of her sex on his stiffness as she straddled him. She leaned down to touch her lips to his once more and he felt her breasts graze his chest. “Christopher,” she sang. “Wake up.”

            And so he did, with a start. It was not a dream. He opened his eyes to find her sitting atop him, her sex rubbing his length. She smiled as her fingers sank into his chest.

            “I was dreaming of you,” she said in a soft whisper, never stopping the rolling of her hips on top of him. He took hold of her waist with a smile. “I woke up and needed to feel you. And you… you were… excited, even though you slept.” She leaned down to kiss his lips. “It seemed like such a waste.” She kissed him again. “I hope you don’t mind, that I didn’t displease you.” She sat up again, her palms supporting her on his chest.

            “The only thing that displeases me is that you did not wake me up sooner. So I would not miss one second,” he said with a smile as his fingers sank into her hips, his excitement growing. 

            “You did not miss much.” She pulled off her nightgown and threw it on the floor.

            He smiled upon seeing her bare body.

“Any second spent without you is too much, love.”

            The word slipped from his tongue, and the moment he heard it, he feared for her reaction. But she just smiled, rejoicing that the sweet words she so missed were coming back.

            “Were you dreaming of me?” She teased him. “Is this all just for me?”

            He was amused by her forwardness. What had gotten into her? Little did he know that her newfound security was based on the confirmation of his love she had secretly heard earlier.

            “Yes,” he smiled. “I did in fact dream of you. I always dream of you.”

            She leaned down to kiss him deeply. When she sat back up, she pulled on his nightshirt, her face a mixture of pleasure and hunger.

            “Take this off,” she demanded as she tugged on the cloth and bit her lip.

            He let go of her waist and pulled off his shirt.

            She caressed his bare chest for a while, as she still ground on top of him. His excitement grew in such a manner that he was afraid he was going to achieve his pleasure before he could pleasure her. She then moved to guide him inside her.

            “No, no. Wait,” he said as he pulled her off his manhood and on to his stomach. “Let me help you with that.” He smiled slyly as he pulled her further up his body. Her sex slid up his chest and came to rest on his lips, her knees on either side of his head.

            She looked at him puzzled at first, but as he began kissing her privates, understanding came to her. She had, at times, found his manhood appetizing and thought of taking her lips to it, but she did not know whether it would be acceptable, so she let it be.

            Finally, his tongue slipped into her and she began to see stars. She let out a loud moan that startled even her, and he looked up at her as she took her own fingers to her mouth and bit them. His eyes seemed to smile and his lips did not stop the work they were doing. She gripped the headboard to not fall off the bed, as she thought she would, as he gently stimulated her nub and its surroundings. She began to roll her hips, and felt so much excitement it seemed to ooze out of her, so aroused she was. Pressure built up quickly and she felt as if she were going to rip the headboard off the bed. Her moans grew louder still and her other hand slipped down to his full head of hair, caressing it, gently pulling at it, ruffling it. Her pleasure hit her hard.

            “Christopher. Oh… yes… Chris,” she moaned.

            He emerged from beneath her smiling. He pulled himself to sit up and as he did, his lips touched the flesh between her privates and her navel, her stomach, her cleavage, as she slid down his chest and stomach, into his lap. As her sex was still tender, this caused ripples of pleasure to run through her body, and she still gripped the headboard with one hand as the other was supported on his shoulder, and her head lolled back.

            He sat with his back against the headboard. She straddled him, feeling his rigid manhood once more, and her hand left the headboard and went to the back of his neck to caress his hair. Her other hand went to his lips and her fingers wiped them clean before she kissed him.

            “Why have you never done that before?” She smiled. She was still breathing heavily. She took her lips to his again.

            He smiled slyly, pleased with himself, pleased that she enjoyed it. “Lack of opportunity, I guess.” His hands slowly slid down her back and came to rest on her buttocks.

            “Well, you must do that every day from now on. Create opportunities.”

            He smiled as his hands caressed her behind. He pressed his lips to her chin.

            “Yes, Madame.”

            “Don’t call me that. You are not my servant.”

            “Oh, but I am.” He smiled and gave her a peck on the lips. “I live to fulfill your every desire. I am yours to command.”

            “Call me by my name.”

            He guided himself inside her and she held on tight to his shoulders while she kissed his lips.

            “Yes, Madame Marianne.” He smiled.

            “Christopher! Stop!” She smiled, but were it not for what they were doing, she might actually be vexed.

            “Right. Of course. Straight away, Mrs. Brandon.”

            He held her waist and encouraged her to move atop him. He wondered if he calling her by his – by their – surname would cause her unease and turn her cold to their playfulness.

            “Not bad. But you can do better still,” she smiled as she tried to move more.

            “Anything you want, my Marianne,” he let out in a whisper. He meant only to say her name, but this was a night of many surprises, and his lips seemed to have taken on a will of their own now. He wondered if she would object to being called his. Was she his? Truly, completely?

            “Much, much better,” her smile widened. His heart filled with joy.

            She had never been on top of him before, and movement did not seem to come naturally. He could see she was a bit frustrated.

            “Take your time,” he said as he brushed her hair back from her face. “Find your rhythm, as you did while I slept.” He smiled. “We have all night.” He kissed her lips, then her neck, and then leaned down to kiss her breasts. “And all day as well, if you need it.” He traced the curves of her cleavage with the tip of his tongue.

            “All day?” She was starting to get the hang of it, circling her hips atop him. “Surely you have business to tend to.”

            “I would rather spend the whole day locked in this room with you, if you’ll have me.”

            She smiled. “And what would you do about meals? They are important.” He still kissed her breasts, neck, and her cheeks, holding her hips close to him. She began to breathe heavily again, pressure building up inside her once more. “You’d have to go downstairs for meals.”

            “Nothing is more important than you. You are all the nourishment I need,” he said in between kisses. Not much blood was left in his head for him to worry about the consequences of speaking his mind and feelings so freely. She smiled at his sweet words.         

            One of his hands slid in between them and rubbed her nub as she rolled her hips on him.

            “Oh, Christopher. I love…” she paused to gasp and his heart sank to his stomach as he froze up. “… your hands.”

            She kissed his lips and he slowly began to breathe again, a bit disappointed.

            “Do you? What else about me pleases you?”

            “Your lips.” He kissed her and his hand slid up, to stimulate her breasts. She breathed more and more heavily.

            “Anything else?” He hoped he could encourage her to say what he wished to hear, so he could say it as well.

            _All of you_ was the first thing that came to her mind, but she did not say it.

            “Your whole body, against mine.” She embraced him, pulling him closer to her.

            He did not push her to say anymore. He had gotten more than he could expect, his heart could not grow greedy.

            He once again slipped one of his hands between them to stimulate her, as the other pulled her hips down to him, more and more rapidly. Her pleasure came and his followed.

            For some time she remained seated on top of him, kissing every part of him she could touch her lips to, caressing him, running her fingers through his hair, sliding her hands down his chest. He reciprocated her kisses and caresses, silently thanking the heavens for the new developments of the evening.


	13. Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I have done with my other Colonel Brandon/Marianne story, I have finally given this one an ending. A pity, since I love writing these two and I have yet to have another idea for them... :( But, since everything is written, I will try to post it more than once a week now so you don't have to wait too long, but I cannot guarantee I will manage to do that every week.

            It was the first time he ever woke up with her in his arms. He felt giddy as he tried to slowly move the arm on which she fell asleep, to restore the blood flow to it but not wake her. He felt her breathing on his bare chest and her hand on his stomach, her hair tickling his chin. He had thought that he would never feel as happy as he had when she came to his room a fortnight ago, ready to surrender to him, but he was glad to learn that he was wrong. So very wrong. Greater felicity _was_ possible. This, right here, her touch, her being comfortable and completely open to him and his caresses, his hugs, his kisses at any and all moments, this was divine.

            He caressed her back with one hand as he ran a finger of the other on her cheek. Oh the joy it brought him to think he could wake up like this every day now. He wanted to remain in this moment forever.

            He remembered how he had planned to make her breakfast in bed the morning after their wedding night and spoil her with all his love. But the circumstances hadn’t allowed it. He could do it now, however. It was late and the staff would have already prepared something, but he could still bring it up to her. He would cook for her another day.

            He began to slowly move out from under her, trying to slide his arm from beneath her without waking her, but she swiftly, pulled him back, now placing her leg on his as well, to try and hold him in place.

            “Where do you think you are sneaking out of bed to, Colonel Brandon?” She said with her eyes still closed and with a smile upon her face. She then kissed his chest and proceeded to graze her teeth on it playfully.

            He did not mind being called Colonel Brandon by her now. He knew it was in jest. He kissed her forehead and before he could answer, she continued

            “Do not think that I forgot you promised to spend the whole day with me. Or were those empty words said in the heat of the moment? Will you go back on your word, Colonel?” Her nails playfully grazed his stomach.

            “No, never, Mrs. Brandon.” His hand caressed her shoulders and slid to the small of her back. He felt even giddier in knowing she wished to spend the day with him. He hadn’t expected her to take his words to heart.

            “So why were you trying to escape?”

            “I was not trying to escape, my dear. I was merely going to bring you breakfast in bed.” He took her hand which was on his stomach and pressed it to his lips. He then entwined his fingers in hers. She looked up at him and kissed his lips.

            “That is very sweet, Chris. Thank you. But I do not wish to release you just yet.” She snuggled closer to him

            “I have absolutely no objections to that.”

            He wrapped both arms around her as her hand left his and slid up to the back of his neck to stroke his hair.

            “What do you wish to do today?” He asked as he too moved to stroke her hair.

            “Hum… I believe we have never been riding together!”

            “That is very true…” he placed his lips next to her ear and whispered “If you do not take last night into account.”

            Her cheeks burned scarlet as she exclaimed “Christopher!” and then hid her face in her hands and pressed herself against his side.

            He chuckled, still stroking her hair.

            “What is the source of all this embarrassment? There was none of this last night.”

            “I…” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him what she had heard, the reason for her boldness. What if she had only dreamt it? “I thought you wouldn’t mind…” She said in a small voice.

            “I didn’t!” He turned her to lie on her back and rolled to lie on top of her. “I don’t.” He kissed her smiling lips. “You can use me wantonly whenever you wish to.” He placed himself between her legs. “If I am out in the fields or by the village, have a servant go fetch me and I shall come running.”

            He once again kissed her lips and then moved to her neck. She smiled and caressed his hair. His lips found their way down to her breasts and there they lingered.

            “Christopher? I thought we were going riding. Outside.”

            “We are. Later. We do have all day.” He said in between kisses on her breasts.

            “And what about my breakfast in bed? I’m ready for it now,” she smiled.

            He looked up at her – his lips had made their way down to her navel – and smiled slyly.

            “Oh, I’ll fetch it in a moment. One shouldn’t exert oneself on a full stomach,” and his head disappeared beneath the covers as she gripped the sheets.

 

******

 

He took her breakfast in bed along with a bouquet of flowers he quickly put together out in the hothouse.

“They’re beautiful! Thank you,” she said as she smelled them in bed, before starting her meal.

“I know you prefer wild flowers but alas, the fields are not obliging this season.”

“The flowers in your – _our_ – hothouse are prettier than any field could provide. I love them, thank you,” she said shyly. His heart filled with joy as he sat down on the bed to eat with her. She made a mental note to ask for a vase before going out, to leave the bouquet on her bedside table.

As she got dressed, he waited to escort her down to the stables. Upon arriving there, he readied their horses and aided her to mount hers. They set off on a long ride, and conversation was not lacking.

After a while, he caught sight of her caressing her mare’s mane, and he smiled.

“I am glad to see you really liked her.”

“Of course I did!” She looked at him outraged. “Why shouldn’t I have?”

He smiled and shrugged as he guided his horse forward.

“Have you named her yet?”

She had thought on a name for a little while, before she visited Eliza on the first time she had gone riding. Then, all thought of that escaped her mind. Afterwards, few were the opportunities to ride due to the weather and her increased duties, which she had finally decided to take on and had been learning to manage ever since. So she had not yet come up with a name. But it was right there that the idea struck her, quick as lightening

“As a matter of fact, I have.” She smiled, pleased with herself. “She is the Penelope to your Odysseus.”

He had no reaction for a while. He would never have thought she would name her horse to couple with his. Then he wanted to cry. So many displays of affection in such little time. So much happiness exploding from his chest.  But he refrained from crying or showing too many of his emotions, in fear of making her retreat.

“Do you not like it? I thought it was fitting and amusing,” she tried a smile to cheer him up. “It relates to my love of literature and I think the master and mistress of Delaford should have horses with matching names.”

“I think it is perfect, my dear.” He smiled and blew her a kiss. “Penelope and Odysseus.” Still, he tried to hold his composure and not give away too much of his happiness.

They rode on to a secluded spot, a field where no one would bother them. Despite the cool and unfit weather, Colonel Brandon had packed a picnic. He had never taken her on one and he wished to make the most of the day. She loved nature and did not object to a picnic ever, she would certainly not object on account of a little chill.

They tied the horses a little further off yet still in sight, and laid down the towel and food for them to enjoy. After much conversation and laughter and eating, Marianne suggested they head back.

“Are you not enjoying yourself? You have already grown tired of me, though you requested a whole day with me,” he said in jest, smiling, though some part of him actually feared she indeed had.

“Of course not, silly Christopher! It’s just getting a bit cold. I thought we could continue inside,” she smiled.  

“You could come closer. I can keep you warm.”

“Chris! Someone might see us!”

“No one will see. No one comes here.”

“How can you be so sure?” She asked as she sat closer to him, her back to his chest.

“I’ve lived here for most of my life. I know. I used to come here quite a bit when I was younger.” He wrapped his arms around her and touched his cheek to her temple. She turned to look at him while he cradled her in his arms.

“Really? Did you come here for the peace and quiet or did you come to be alone with… lady friends?” She asked, teasing him. She wished to ask if he took Eliza there, but she thought it would be in bad taste. She also did not understand why she had this curiosity now, and why she felt a pang of jealousy of a woman he loved so many years ago and who was now dead. Maybe because he had loved her. She had come first. First attachments… A small wish burst in her heart that she could have seen his worth before the weight of Willoughby had befallen her. And that he too had never loved another. They could’ve been so unbelievably happy with no wounds to their hearts. But it was what it was.

He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. How there never was or ever could be another woman for him now. She was the one and only, no one could compare. Anything else had been foolish and boyish ideas. But he couldn’t. He did not know if she would wish to hear such things. She never did revoke her order to never hear him say words of love to her. So he kissed her. That he could do now, praise the Lord. He kissed her deeply, passionately. He poured his soul into that kiss so that it would say everything he wanted to. He could not help himself.

When their lips parted, she was blushing and smiling, her fingers tracing the lines on his face as she looked up at him.

“Well, that certainly will keep me warm for a while.”

She pressed her lips to his once again and there, in each other’s arms, they stayed a good while longer.


	14. A Blast from the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time I posted, on Sunday, the site was a bit weird... So I think some of you did not read the last chapter yet. Be sure to go back and check!

Several weeks of absolute bliss went by. As a properly married couple who were at least fond of each other they lived. There was no awkwardness, no prohibitions, only tenderness, openness, intimacy. Colonel Brandon still did not dare profess his love directly, since she had never lifted her ban and his politics of asking no questions or making no demands had been working so well. But that did not burden his heart. Not as much as it used to. He was free to shower her with sweet words that could indirectly reveal his feelings, steal kisses and caresses in the middle of the day… all of that was enough for him, and he learned to live without saying the actual words.

            As for hearing her say it, he never had. And that did bother him from time to time. But when he saw the openness with which he was now treated, the fact that his gifts were now very welcome and highly appreciated, when he felt her sweet kisses and warm embraces, her lustful touch and her restored happiness and constant smiles, that worry easily slipped to the back of his mind.

            The time for their wedding trip was finally upon them and, luckily, Colonel Brandon did not have to cancel it like he had imagined he would have. Marianne was very excited to go away with him. And she had never been to the seaside, which made her more excited still.

            They set off on a lovely late spring day. They sat side by side in the carriage, something that had not been the norm last time they traveled, and Colonel Brandon appreciated it. He appreciated all things, big or small, that brought him closer to her. The carriage ride was very pleasurable in itself. There was much conversation and admiring of the landscape as they went by, but much more often were the times the curtains were drawn shut and kisses and caresses were freely exchanged inside.

            It was early evening, the sun already setting on their first day of travel, when they approached the inn in which they were scheduled to spend the night, to then carry on in the morning to their destination. Marianne had already shown signs of tiredness in the late afternoon and she now slept with her head resting on her husband’s broad shoulder. He had his arm around her and had been stroking her sleeping head as he peaked out the window and smiled at absolutely nothing and everything.

            When the carriage pulled to a halt in front of the inn, he kissed her awake, his kisses mixed with his voice calling her name sweetly.

            “Marianne. Marianne.”

            She opened her eyes but was still drowsy.

            “Have we arrived?”

            “Only at the inn where we are to spend the night, my sweet.”

            She lifted her head from his shoulder and proceeded to checking if her hair was all still in place.

            “Do I look presentable?” She asked.

“Beautiful, as always.”

“You always think that, even if my hair is disheveled,” she smiled.

“Especially when it is,” he smiled back.

“Christopher! Stop being naughty! Is my hair in place?”

He took his hand to her hair and placed a rogue lock behind her ear. “Yes, dearest.”

“Then we may go,” she smiled.

He stepped down from the carriage and held her hand to help her out. She then took his arm and they walked in. The coachman followed with one of their trunks, the rest would stay in the carriage during the night. The coachman had already walked in while his masters were inside the carriage, to retrieve the room keys.

The downstairs of the inn was very hectic. As it was dinnertime, many of the guests lounged there. The humming of the conversations was rather loud compared to the calmness of the carriage they had just quit.

As they began to ascend the stairs to find their room, a familiar face emerged from a door in the back, into the crowded downstairs of the inn. It was Willoughby. He quickly spotted the couple heading upstairs. His eyes first met Colonel Brandon’s, and with a certain smugness to his countenance, Willoughby did not break his gaze.

Marianne was absolutely in shock. Her stomach churned as she fought hard to not lose balance, for her legs had lost their strength. It was the first time in a couple of years she was seeing him. A mix of emotion washed over her as all color faded from her complexion. It was when Willoughby turned his gaze to her, and with his smugness came a smile, as if they shared a secret her husband was not in on. She quickly looked down to her feet, pulling up her dress to not trip on it as she climbed the stairs holding her husband’s arm.

When they reached the room, Colonel Brandon fully noticed what the sight had done to her nerves. She was very pale and distracted. She tried to sort the rush of emotions that came over her. Seeing Willoughby again. She had wished for it for so long. And now he was here. But she felt like she would be sick.

“Do you wish to have dinner?” He asked calmly, after taking a deep breath to master the anger he felt towards John Willoughby, and after certifying that his mind would win the battle with his heart, that he would not wonder what she was feeling or in any way push her into answering all the doubts that soared through his mind. He did not want to scare her away from him. But distant she already was, as she did not answer his question and gazed at nothing, drowned in her thoughts.

“Marianne?”

“Hum?” She looked at him startled.

“Do you wish to have dinner? I have arranged for it to be brought up to our sitting room.”

He had sent the servant ahead to arrange all of that, only because he thought in a wedding trip, the purpose was to be alone with each other. Now he was glad he did for going back downstairs and seeing that scoundrel again wouldn’t do any of them any good.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” she managed.

She ate very little and talked even less. Most of the time she just played with her food in her plate, her cutlery moving it around as she remained silent in thought.

The plates were cleared and they changed for bed. She laid down first and stared at the ceiling, trying to come back to normal, her stomach still churning. Willoughby, he was there. He could be in the next room right now. The man she had loved so much. The man who broke her heart into so many pieces. She hadn’t thought of him in so long… not since… not since… she had lain with her husband. Her heart filled with warmth.

“Good night, Marianne,” Colonel Brandon said a bit too curtly, which was not his intention. And suddenly the room was dark.

She hadn’t even noticed he blew out the candles. She looked to the side and as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, she saw her husband lying with his back to her. So far away, at the edge of the bed. She found she no longer could sleep without feeling the warmth of his body against hers, without being in his arms.

She moved closer to him and her hand found its way in between his arm and torso, embracing him tight. She kissed his back, his shoulder blade, then his neck.

“Good night, Christopher,” she whispered in his ear and there she remained, lying next to him, embracing him. He smiled and his heart beat steadier.

“Tomorrow…” he started.

“Yes?”

“Should I… do you wish to press on with our trip, or should I tell the coachman to head back to Delaford?”

“I wish to keep going. Do… do you wish to turn back?”

“No.”

“Good.” She grazed her nails on his chest. “I cannot wait to take long walks on the beach with you, darling,” she whispered in his ear.

He took her hand from his chest and kissed it. Though they had lived many, many weeks of marital bliss, she had only called him Christopher, Chris or husband, never anything loving as the darling she had just let slip through her lips. He smiled in the dark as his heart beat faster again, for completely different reasons than it had raced earlier.


	15. Protective Ways

Colonel Brandon rose before the sun. He wished to avoid running into Willoughby again. He did not think he could master himself and contain his anger and hatred towards him. And he feared Marianne’s mood and heart could change back to what it was months before, ruining their wedding trip, making it awkward as he had feared after all.

            He was pleased to see Marianne had clung to him all night, and he had to wiggle out of her embrace as not to wake her just yet. He washed up and asked for breakfast to be brought up. When it arrived, he sat on the bed to wake her.

            “Marianne,” he called in a whisper. “Marianne,” he caressed her arm and she stirred. “Marianne, my sweet,” he gingerly shook her. She was already half awake, but remained with her eyes closed, wondering if she would hear a secret declaration of love once again, but he only shook her once more and said “wake up, my dear.”

            She opened her eyes to see him half dressed, his cravat untied still, not wearing his waistcoat yet. She looked at him and looked out the window to see sunlight only beginning to shine in the horizon.

            “I thought we could leave earlier. Thus we would get there sooner, and we could rest upon arrival,” he said, as if he had read her mind.

            She smiled. “All right. Though I cannot promise I will let you rest once we are there.” Her smile widened.

            He was pleased to see her returning to her normal self so quickly. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, a kiss she would remember throughout the day, just in case they had any more hiccups as they had the night before.

            “Breakfast is on the table,” he said after their lips had parted and he had admired her smile. He stood and walked over to the sitting room. She followed, still in her nightgown, and found him pulling out a chair for her to sit. She smiled and sat as he pushed her chair forward.

            “Thank you, sir.”

            She had more of an appetite than she had had the previous night, Colonel Brandon noticed. When they had finished, he tied his cravat and put on his waistcoat as she began to get dressed.

            “I will go down and see to the carriage, and wait for you there.”

            She came closer to him to adjust his cravat and straighten his waistcoat. “All right,” she smiled. “I will be right down,” she pressed her lips to his.

            It seemed she did not even remember she had seen Willoughby only hours before. Colonel Brandon was very pleased with that thought.

            She got ready more rapidly than she usually did, longing to once again be alone with him in the carriage and to arrive at their destination at last. She went downstairs.

            As she approached the door of the inn, sunlight already beginning to brighten the day, the sitting area deserted – quite the opposite of the previous night, due to the early hours, - she could see her husband near the carriage outside, at a distance. She inadvertently smiled at the sight of him, and suddenly before her, in came Willoughby through the door.

            She was astonished as he came towards her and held her arm.

            “Hello, Marianne,” he said as he leaned in closer to her. He stopped at a very short distance from her face, and she was too stunned to fight it. “I need to speak to you.”

            She was dazed, being so close to him again. Elinor was right when she had said he could fool one into pitying him, into liking him, wanting to hear his explanations. It was what Elinor had felt when he went to her in Cleveland, while Marianne lay upstairs at death’s door. He made Elinor pity him. And here he was once again, mesmerizing Marianne herself. Though she had every reason to walk away from him, she really wished to hear what he had to say, to even feel his embrace were it possible. What could he have to say to her? She very much wanted to know.

            Colonel Brandon had his back to the door of the inn at first, and did not see Willoughby go in. He was checking that the trunks were secured and the horses were well to continue their journey. When he turned, he saw Willoughby very close to Marianne, holding her arm and talking to her. Anger rose in his chest and he had the urge to kill him right there. But he noticed that she did not fight him. She seemed to enjoy it, even. To revel in his closeness.

            That saddened him, but anger still boiled inside him as well. He did not wish to be an authoritarian and rip her from the cad’s grip. She was not his property. She could converse with whomever she pleased. But she _was_ his wife. And Willoughby… after all that had happened. After all he did.

            “Did you miss me, Marianne?” Willoughby asked, and his smugness seemed to break the enchantment. What was she doing here with him, listening to him? She was married. She could not be seen in such a way with another man. He would ruin her, more than he already had before.

            She stepped away from him and tried to free her arm from his grip, but he would not let it go. Colonel Brandon saw this and began marching towards them in large strides. As he approached the door, he heard her cry “unhand me!” and that was enough for him to indulge in his heart’s desire.

            His fist went straight into Willoughby’s face, whose head hit the wall behind him, finally loosening his grip on Marianne, who pulled away quickly in shock. Colonel Brandon gripped Willoughby’s throat and pinned him against the wall before he could react. Willoughby’s nose bled. It might even be broken, which in addition to being choked, made his breathing more difficult still.

            “I believe the lady is done talking to you,” Colonel Brandon spat with absolute hatred. “You would do well to recognize that.”

            Willoughby managed a grin, and though he breathed with difficulty he said “It is not my fault she prefers my company to yours.” This only angered Colonel Brandon more. He tightened his grip and Willoughby’s smile washed away as his face grew deeper shades of crimson.

            “How dare you handle my wife, you little piece of filth?”

            Marianne was growing more frightened. She had never seen her husband like this before. And Willoughby… the look on his face… He couldn’t breathe at all.

            “I will teach you some respect…”

            “Christopher,” Marianne called, a little despaired. He did not hear her. “Christopher, let’s go. Come, Christopher, my darling. Please! Let him go and let us go!” She cried rather loudly, frightened, her hands on his chest, pulling him from behind. He did not even register she had once again called him in a loving fashion, he only registered the plea for Willoughby. He released his grip on him and Willoughby fell to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.

            “If I ever see you talking to my wife again, I will kill you,” he spat, anger controlling him completely. Marianne pulled on him once again as he stood there, watching Willoughby catch his breath, half expecting him to doubt his threats and disrespect his wishes or react in any manner, so he could have an excuse to do what his anger and hatred demanded he do.

            “Come, Chris,” she said, and he turned and followed her to the carriage.

 

****

 

Marianne sat in the carriage and watched the passing landscape through the window. Curiosity affected her heart. What would Willoughby have to say to her? He had some urgency in his voice. Would he repeat his explanations to her sister in Cleveland? Or was it something else? What else could it be? The idea of him coming to declare his love and wish to run away with her came to her mind and she smiled. She had dreamt of that constantly after that horrible ball in London, when she had learned the truth. Even after she knew him to be already wed, she had thought of it, though she knew it was wrong. He was married. She could not wish for him to leave his wife for her. But she could not help it. He himself had said he did not love his wife.

But did he love _her_? If he truly did, would he not have found a way to be with her instead of choosing the then Miss Grey and her fifty thousand pounds? Perhaps he only thought he loved her because he now could not have her. If she ran away with him, would he respect her? He certainly did not respect his wife. He was walking in at that hour, and he smelled of whisky. Where could he have been all night? And his wife at home, thinking he was tending to some sort of business, probably. He did not respect her at all, seeking to speak to another woman in secrecy.

He did not respect Marianne either, come to think of it. How could he respect her, yet seek her in secrecy knowing she was now married? No, he couldn’t. He did not care about her decency and well-being, only about his own selfish needs. She remembered his words. _Did you miss me… it’s not my fault she prefers my company…_ How absolutely disgusting and smug. It is true she had given him reason to feel so secure about himself, but that was years ago. How could he be so sure now? She was a changed woman… what kind of man would… Christopher would never act as such.

Her utter disgust of Willoughby’s actions made her snap away from her string of thought. She remembered her husband and her heart filled with warmth. It was then she realized he sat opposite her in the carriage, not beside her as they had so merrily ridden up to now. He too watched the countryside, his face tense, anger still clearly etched into it.

“Christopher, you need to calm…”

“You defended him,” he said still gazing out the window. This had clearly been bothering him and he had only waited for an opportunity to bring it up.

“What?” She asked, not understanding what he meant at all.

“You pleaded for his life.” He was breathing deeply, trying to calm himself. “He was disrespecting me, disrespecting _you_ , and yet… you worried about his well-being.” He now spoke with more sadness than anger.

_Did_ she fear for his life? What would she feel if Willoughby did die? Would she miss him? Would it make a difference in her life? She could not think of it now though. She needed time to ponder on it and figure it all out. Later.

“I was worried for _you_! You frightened me! I had never seen you so enraged…”

“Well, yes, it happens when…” He bit his tongue before he declared his love for her. Of course he was enraged. He loved her so much and now had known happiness with her. He feared Willoughby would ruin it, take it way. Willoughby’s presumption to come and speak to her, after all he did, angered him, yes. And her willingness to accept his words, his closeness, after all he had done and after all they had shared in their married life saddened him. What was he doing so wrongly that he could never succeed in wining over her heart? Was he such an inferior man? “I do not care for him, for obvious reasons,” he finished.

“Yes, well…”

“Wait. I _frightened_ you? Did you fear I would hurt you, then? You must know I would never…”

“No! I know you wouldn’t.”

“Then why did you stop me? He will certainly be pleased about that.”

“Was I supposed to let you kill him, Christopher? And then just sit and watch as you were carried off to prison? To the gallows?” She raised her voice in despair. “Because you were so enraged you might very well _have_ killed him. And where would that leave me?”

Colonel Brandon looked at her and could not find what to say. So he looked out the window once more. After a moment of silence, he said, still looking out the window, in a rather stiff manner

“You are right. Forgive me. It should not have happened. I lost my temper. It will not happen again.”

Some time went by with them both in silence. Marianne went back to wondering what would Willoughby have said to her, and she also wondered what Willoughby’s death would make her feel. She was very confused and could not know her own heart, identify what she was feeling and how Christopher fit into all of it, for images of him and the memories they had created up until now kept invading her mind, interrupting her process.

He noticed her quiet thoughtfulness. He had noticed it before. It was part of what had enraged him. She no doubt thought of Willoughby. He could not bear it. What was she thinking? What had he said to her? She could deny it all she wished to, but he knew she feared for Willoughby’s well-being. She could even have been worried about _him_ being imprisoned as she claimed, but Willoughby probably came first. _She prefers my company to yours_ … Now he felt only sorrow, no rage. Willoughby had done it, he had ruined their trip.

In her reveries she once again remembered his smugness and for once could identify what she felt: repulsion. She once again came back to reality to find her husband staring out the window in silence. And once again the fact he was not next to her bothered her immensely. She was neglecting him while wondering about Willoughby, who should not deserve a second thought from her. Especially not on their wedding trip.

“Are you still cross, Christopher?”

He gently shook his head, looking outside.

“Why are you so quiet then? Let us put this all behind us. Let us not allow it to ruin our trip. We so looked forward to it.”

He looked at her, his countenance softened, but not entirely, and said “yes.”

She smiled. But he remained silent, lost in sadness that she still thought of Willoughby, and in shame of what he had done.

“Why did you not sit next to me?”

“I… thought you would like some… moments to yourself after…” he fell silent and looked out the window again. It really tore his heart to think she was thinking of that scoundrel. He could not bear it.

She moved to sit next to him. Half way through it, the carriage hit a bump on the road and she lost her balance and was to fall. But he immediately caught her and she came to rest in his arms.

“Marianne! Are you mad!? Standing as such in a moving carriage! You could have been seriously injured!” His countenance was riddled with worry.

“Well frankly, it seems like you wouldn’t care if I was injured, at the moment.”

“I… will always care. Always. I wish nothing more than for your happiness and well-being. Never doubt that.”

“Prove it then, she smiled up at him. “Kiss me.”

He was still feeling very ashamed and awkward and could not bear to think to kiss her lips if she still thought of Willoughby. So he kissed her forehead.

“My darling husband,” she caressed his cheeks from where she was cradled in his arms, “that was all very sweet. But kiss me like you mean it. Like you did this morning. Like a husband kisses a wife. I miss the taste of your lips, my dear.”

He smiled, pleased to see his kiss had lingered with her after all. And that she was now beginning to refer to him with fond words.

“But Marianne, the curtains are open.”

“What care I? Do I know these people? I will never see them again. They can think whatever they wish to. All I want is to kiss my husband’s sweet lips. It is no crime.”

And so he held her cheek with one hand, his fingers sunken in her curls, and he kissed her. Their lips remained locked for a good long while. He only emerged to close the drapes, so they could resume their tender kisses and hungry caresses, as they resumed their wedding trip as if nothing had happened.


	16. Freedom

 

            Despite the small glitch on their way to the seaside, their wedding trip was going marvelously well. Colonel Brandon rejoiced in the fact that he was now absolutely free to touch and kiss his wife, to shower her with words of tenderness. Though he was not allowed to be so direct as to plainly say he loved her, for she had not said anything that revoked that wish she had imposed on him on only the second day of their marriage, all these other acts that seemed very much welcome to her were ways of showing his love nonetheless. He no longer felt suffocated by not being able to be himself, to be who he wished to be with her. As for the fact that she did not verbally express fondness or regard for him in so many words, he had learned to live with it. She did not in the least feel repulsed by his touch. She even craved his caresses, he could tell. She also enjoyed hearing the sweet words he had for her. So her fondness had undoubtedly grown. And, though in not so many words, she did express some feelings that could be interpreted as at least regard for him.

            She was also happy, though a bit confused about her own feelings at times. She wished very much to hear him say he loved her again, though she could not explain why, since she could not say it back. But if she did not love him, why was it so important to her that he love her? It seemed rather selfish of her. His not saying it made her wonder if it was solely because she had asked him not to, or if he indeed did not feel it any longer. Maybe she had made him wait too long and the feeling had just melted away and now he was just playing along with her, having fun and making the best of what was. This would only prove her point that second attachments could not be made, since his so called love for her had not lasted. But some part of her wished her to be wrong, even if she did not fully realize it. Every night, she would even pretend to be asleep and listen closely, waiting for him to let the words slip once again while he thought she would not hear, but it had never again happened. Why did it matter to her? He was kind to her, always there when she needed him; tender and caring… was that not all that mattered? It was. And when he kissed her, the lack of words ceased to bother her. She could always feel something in his kiss that soothed her. Maybe words were not necessary. Had she even heard the words in the first place? Perhaps it was all a trick of her mind.

Three weeks they had been at the seaside and three weeks they had spent in marital bliss. Picnics and long walks, readings and music filled their days, all punctuated by stolen kisses and tender caresses, holding of hands and contagious smiles. Some caresses were bolder, lust-filled, and especially improper to be shared in open spaces – though not many people could be seen around. But they did not seem to care, and such caresses always seemed to lead them to the comfort and privacy of their rented home, where hours of passion were to ensue.

 

Colonel Brandon sat at the pianoforte – for of course he rented a house that had one – and played a sweet romantic tune Marianne had never heard before. When he finished, she started, from the sofa where she sat admiring him

“That is beautiful. Who is it by? I don’t think I have ever heard it.”

“Did you really enjoy it?” He asked smiling sweetly.

“Of course!”

“How wonderful,” and he turned his back to her to play something else.

“No, no,” she said before he started, “won’t you tell me what it’s called and who is it by? I wish to learn it.”

“Huuum. No, not right now. Perhaps when we get back home I will show you the sheet music and you can learn.” He smiled coyly.

“How very wicked you are today, dear.”

Marianne wished to make the most of their last week there and, never having been to the seaside before or enjoyed the wonderful sight of waves crashing on rocks, the feel of sand in between her toes, and not knowing when she would be able to be back and enjoy it all again, she asked her husband to escort her on a walk.

He looked out the window under which the pianoforte sat and saw the sky was not as clear as desirable for taking long walks.

“Marianne, I do not think it a good idea. It will rain.”

“No it won’t. Not right now at least.” She smiled at him.

“It will.”

She stood and walked to him and proceeded to sit on his lap.

“We simply must go outside” she whispered in his ear as she caressed his opposite cheek and her hand slipped up to his hair.

“Why must we? When there is so much fun to be had in here?” His hand caressed her thighs.

“But I wish to make the most of every moment here. Lord only knows when we will be able to come back…” She nibbled on his ear. He turned to face her and hungrily kissed her lips.

“I will bring you back whenever you wish.”

“Will you?” She smiled. “What if I want to be back in a fortnight?” She kissed his cheek and slowly moved to his lips.

“Then we will be back in a fortnight.”

“Huuum… and the name of the song you were just playing?”

He chuckled. “I’m not so easily fooled. You will learn it when we are back at Delaford.”

“And what if I wish to be established here?” Her hand moved to loosen his cravat as she kissed him.

“I will be rid of Delaford and we will move here.” His hand was tentatively under her breast, wishing to be moved up.

“You cannot do that!” She smiled. “What will you leave our children?” She kissed his lips. This time he did not quite kiss her back for he was amazed. She had never talked of children before. Was she trying to say something? She was at least open to the prospect of bearing his children, it seemed. His heart swelled in joy.

“You make a fair point. But I only wish to make you happy.”

She kissed his nose and stood. “Then let us go for a walk. That shall be enough for now.” She smiled.

He looked once again at the graying skies.

“Come, we shan’t be long.” She reached out her hands, smiling.

Apprehensive, but always aiming to satisfy her every desire, he took her hands and followed her out.

 

The walk was very pleasant. Their fingers were intertwined as she playfully kicked the sand and dipped her toes in the receding waves as he held her shoes. He even forgot his worries for a moment while watching her. That is, until the rain began to lightly fall.

“We should go, dear.”

But it was only just a drizzle. That would not scare Marianne away.

“Yes, we should go further down the beach.” She pulled him away from where they stood.

“Marianne! Let us go back.”

Rain fell harder but she still pressed on. “Walks in the rain are lovely, you will see.”

He stopped and pulled her back. “Marianne, I mean it.”

She let go of his hand and walked on alone. “Fine, you go.”

He went after her and grabbed her by the arm as rain began to fall in full force. She struggled to be free of him, but he grabbed her with both hands and lifted her, bending her over his shoulder. She kicked and screamed, pounding on his back, demanding he put her down as he took her back to the rented home, unmoved by her pleas.

Only when they were inside, by the fire of the parlor, did he put her down.

“Christopher!” She was beside herself. “What is the meaning of this? How could you handle me like that?”

He had already begun to walk towards the foyer, to close the door and make sure she would not go back out. Upon hearing her cries, he turned to face her. He could not look her in the eye. He looked at a spot on the wall behind her, breathing heavily, as if he were angry himself.

“You are soaking wet. You should change into something dry before you catch cold.” He managed to say it calmly, though it was visible he was restraining himself to be able to do so.

“Christopher! I demand an explanation!”

His breathing was more labored, and he looked down at the floor.

“The last time you were caught in the rain, you… you almost perished.” His voice began to break up as the emotion that churned inside of him rose, against his will. “That cannot happen again. It simply cannot! You have no idea of the anguish I felt at the thought of never again seeing your smiling face. It was unbearable. And now, now that I know what it is to hold you, to have you, to kiss your lips… if something were to happen to you… my goodness, I would surely die.” Tears rolled down his already wet face and he still dared not look at her. “I cannot bear to see you ill, I could not bear the anguish of not knowing if you were to live or die, and I could not bear to live without you were you to leave me here. There is no point in life in a world without you in it. I love you too much, Marianne. I love you more than life itself and I would follow you to the grave.”

He finally looked up at her to see her surprised face, her jaw dropped, her eyes wide open. She was speechless as her wet curls clung to her cheeks.

“Forgive me, I know you do not like to hear me say such things, but it is the truth… you demanded an explanation and I could not restrain my…”

She rushed to him and took his hand, pressing her lips to it before holding him close, her hands cupped on his cheeks.

“I don’t mind,” she said, looking into his eyes.

“Pardon?”

“I don’t mind. Hearing you say such things.” She kissed his lips.

He was surprised at her reaction, not quite daring to believe what he had just heard. She smiled and kissed him again, then moved away from him.

“Molly!” She called. He stood at the foot of the stairs, bewildered still.

“Yes, Mrs. Brandon?” Out came the maid they had taken with them on the trip.

“Would you be so kind as to heat up some water for the bathtub? I am in need of a hot bath.”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Brandon.”

“Thank you. I will wait upstairs.”

Molly went into the kitchens. Marianne moved closer to her husband again.

“Here is what is going to happen. We are to go upstairs and you are to help me out of these wet clothes.” She kissed his lips. “Then, we will take a hot bath and you will help get me warm, so that nothing ever happens to me again.” She smiled and kissed his lips once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't figure out why the paragraph indentations don't stick in this fic.


	17. Tenderness

            She led him into the bedchamber and through there, to the dressing room. He was still shocked, wondering if what he had just heard was true or had he imagined it. Was it pure wishful thinking? Could he, in fact, proclaim his love? Did she enjoy hearing it now?

            She kissed him as she started to unbutton his waistcoat. His mind was blank, and then suddenly worry rushed in to fill it. She could get sick once again. He could not bear the thought of her feverish body perishing in bed and he sitting beside her, helpless.

            “Marianne,” he said as her lips touched his, “you are soaking wet.” She kissed him again as her hands undid more buttons. “You should really get out of those clothes.” He worried so much he did not even kiss her back.

            “Then undress me, you fool,” she smiled up at him.

            He untied the back of her dress, his mind set on keeping her warm, dry and safe, nothing else. She kissed him and untied his cravat.

            Once her dress was loosened, she sat him on the chair to the dressing table and stood before him as she pulled off the dress, quickly untied her stay and let it fall to the ground. Her petticoat was also hastily discarded and the only thing that remained covering her as she straddled him on the chair was her chemise.

            She recommenced the kissing of his lips as she threw his cravat and waistcoat to the floor, but he did not even register it. Her skin was still damp; she could catch a chill…

            “Marianne, are you…”

            She stopped kissing him and held his chin, her blue eyes looking deep into his.

            “Christopher, I am well. I feel fine. I swear. Stop worrying, darling, and take me. Keep me warm. Make me hot. Make me feel better still.” She smiled.

            Something inside him snapped and he became alert, he awoke. He grabbed her behind and held her closer to him while kissing her lips with such hunger as she had never felt before. She pulled his shirt off over his head and it was barely over his lips when he searched and found hers again, his kisses deep and passionate.

            He remembered what she had said, about not minding him telling her he loved her. Should he dare? Was it true? He held her face in between his hands and looked her in the eyes for a moment. She smiled at him, but he could not bring himself to say the words, still fearing all would be ruined. So he said it all with his kiss.

            Her hands slid down his chest and found a button of his fall front. She opened it and released his manhood. She stroked him, and he grew in between their touching bodies. His hands descended to her thighs as their lips touched, their kisses growing hungrier and hungrier.

            He was lifting her chemise, his hands gliding up her thighs, when there was a knock on the door. They stopped their passionate caresses.

            “One moment, please,” Marianne said as she stood and sought a robe that hung behind the door and pulled it on.

            “Go into the bedchamber,” she whispered to him, and sent him off with a kiss.

            He stood behind the half-closed door and listened as she let the maid in and she poured the water in the tub.

            “Thank you, Molly. That will be all. Good night.”

            “Good night, Mrs. Brandon,” and the door closed.

It took a moment for her to call him back.

            “Christopher,” she sang.

            He appeared at the door and saw she already sat in the tub.

            “Come and join me,” she smiled, and he stepped closer. She reached up to finish the work she had begun of opening his fall front.

            “Why are you still dressed?” she asked as she untied his trousers. He rushed to help her and soon he was sliding into the tub behind her.

            He picked up a cloth and proceeded to scrub her back. His hand glided over to her stomach, his breath on her neck, and she laid back into him, on his chest. He rubbed her breast and her stomach with the cloth before he reached to her calf and his hand slowly glided up. She smiled and leaned closer to him. When his hand reached her thigh, he let go of the cloth and let his hand slip in between her legs. He gently caressed her privates and she quivered against him. His breath was hot on her ear and it only contributed to her arousal. He began to rub her bud of nerves as he nibbled on her ear, and she let out a moan as her hand reached to the back of his head and she ran her fingers through his hair, wetting it. Her body squirmed in the most divine way against him, and his other arm wrapped around her waist to hold her close to him.

            She turned her head and managed to kiss his jawline.

            “Kiss me,” she pleaded. “I need to taste you.”

            His lips touched hers and her tongue soon parted them to caress his. All the while he continued to pleasure her.

            She tugged on his hair as her pleasure washed over her and he kissed her cheek and neck. When the haze of her pleasure had lifted, she turned to face him, and with the cloth in hand proceeded to rub his chest and kiss his lips.

            “Let us see what I can do for you now,” she smiled as her hand slid down his chest to his stiffness. She stroked him as she kissed his neck.

            “You can do whatever you please to me, my love, and I shall be happy,” he let his love slip through his lips. As soon as he did, he froze. She stopped kissing him and rose from the water. Stepping out of the tub, she wrapped a towel around herself and started for the bedroom.

            He knew it. It was too good to be true. She did not like to hear his love professed. He sat in despair in the tub for having ruined it all, but only for a moment. She turned from the door to purr

            “My sweet Christopher. Don’t be long. I’ll be waiting for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up later today, as both of these were supposed to be one.


	18. A Song of Love

He came out of the dressing room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Drops of water still trickled down his body and his damp hair was combed back. Marianne had been sitting back in bed in an enticing pose waiting for him, but upon seeing him she could not resist him and came forward, kneeling on the bed, beckoning him with an outstretched arm and a smile. She wore a sheer muslin nightgown. He took her hand and hurried closer, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her deeply.

            “Why did you abandon me in the bathtub?” He asked once their lips parted. He touched his forehead to hers as his hands caressed her shoulders, then her arms. 

            “I did not abandon you. I just wanted to put on something nice for you.” Her hands slid up his damp chest and rested on his shoulders, her eyes focused on his lips, craving them once more. So close yet so far.

            “Why? If I am about to tear it off you?” He smiled as his hands slid down her body. Their foreheads still touched, and he gently rubbed his nose on hers. His hands came to rest on the small of her back.

            “So I can look beautiful for you.”

            “You are beautiful, no matter what you wear… or don’t wear, my love.” He tested to see if he really was free to express his love whenever he wished without upsetting her. She only smiled, and took her hands up to his hair, sinking them into it and pulling him in for a kiss. His heart swelled with delight at this. They could live as man and wife _and_ he could express himself freely. He did not have to suppress his love any longer, bottle it up inside as not to scare her away. Not one bit of it. She accepted it, finally. She accepted him. It was enough to make him absolutely blissful. His excitement grew. He did not even care that she did not say it back or felt it as strongly as he did. Her feelings for him had obviously grown, evolved in some way, changed for the better and even if it was not love, after all he had been through, it was enough for him.

            Their lips parted and she whispered

            “I like the feel of your touch undressing me, your hands running over my whole body.”

            “Is that so?” He smiled and his hands ran back up her body, finding their way to her cleavage, where he started to untie her nightgown. His hands slid up to her shoulders and then down her arms as he gently kissed her lips, her cheeks, and finally her neck. His hands continued their journey down to her buttocks, her thighs and finally found the hem of the gown near her bended knees, pulling the piece of clothing up slowly, tenderly caressing every inch of her body.

            She caressed his neck and his hair and nibbled on his ear as every hair on her body stood on end with his caresses, and she let gentle exhales of pleasure sound near his ear.

            When he had finally disrobed her, her hands ran down his chest and fell to his waist, pulling on his towel and letting it fall to the floor. She proceeded to caressing his manhood, but he was still rigid from the caresses they had shared in the dressing room.

            He pulled her legs swiftly and soon they were wrapped around him and he supported all of her weight as her body touched the bed no longer. They shared a passionate kiss before he laid her down, lying atop her. She smiled.

            She ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed her again. She could feel his manhood on her sex and her excitement grew. His lips moved to her neck and then he nibbled on her ear. She rolled her hips to rub against him more vigorously. She needed to feel him, all of him. He smiled into her neck and pulled away from it, to look into her eyes. And there he lingered for a moment.

            “What is it, darling?” She asked as her fingertips caressed his temples, his cheeks.

            “I just want to verify that this is really happening, that you are here with me, my love.”

            “I am,” she smiled. “I assure you I am not a dream.”

            “Oh but you are. My dream come true.”

            Her smile widened. He took her hands over her head and pinned them down, their fingers interlacing. As he entered her, her smile changed to a bite on her lip, followed by a small moan. He kissed her deeply as he moved inside her, and this time, somehow, it felt different than all the other times they had done this. It felt better, if that was possible. She felt as if he was a piece that had always been missing from her, that he completed her, that they were one. She felt butterflies flutter about in her stomach as she looked at him, and inadvertently smiled widely. He freed her hands and they immediately found his back, her fingers sinking into his shoulder blades, pulling him closer.

            As they moved as one and their pleasures began to build, his heart filled with so much love he thought it would burst. He felt a bit insecure about declaring it. Perhaps if he did it too often she would grow tired of it. But he had to do it. He had never been able to say it to her while she was awake, say it as they made love, and it was when he felt it the strongest, when he most wished to say it, when their connection was deepest. He could not, he would not hold it back.

            He looked deep in her eyes, her body moving in rhythm with his, and as she smiled at him, he said, in between heavy breathing

            “I love you, Marianne. With every fiber of my being, I love you.”

            Her heart began to swell in her chest, and all the physical sensations he was provoking on her immediately enhanced. In her chest, something burned hot. Her stomach felt light and it floated to her chest, and with her heart formed one great mass of excitement and something else she could not quite name. It swelled and burned up to her throat. She needed to say it, tell him how much he meant to her as well. The words were forming on her tongue involuntarily. She could not fight it, though her brain seemed to have its doubts if it was wise to express her feelings like that.

            “I..” she began, but it came out amidst a moan.

            Without realizing she was about to say something, he kissed her. As his tongue entered her parted lips, it pushed down whatever courage that had gathered inside her. When their lips parted, she looked up at him and smiled, but could now control that urge she had to say it back, tell him she loved him as well.

            The pressure continued to build inside them both, and it was close to reaching its peak.  He buried his face in her hair, then kissed her shoulder, her neck.

            “Marianne,” he breathed in her ear. “Marianne… My Marianne.”

            Without his eyes looking into hers, her courage seemed to build up again. As he began to move more rapidly atop her, her hands slid up and down his back, scratching him. One came to rest on his shoulder as the other slid to the back of his head. She held him close and pressed her lips to his ear, as his lips continued on her neck.

            “Yes,” she whispered to him in between moans. “Yes Christopher. I am yours. I… am completely yours, Chris. Only yours. Yours.” She dug her heels on his behind and it was a matter of moments for her pleasure to wash over her. It was the best she had ever felt. His did so simultaneously, and he was relieved he could pleasure her, for upon hearing her words, he was unable to control himself.

            He kissed her neck and cheek, then her lips, and with a wide smile, he was about to lie beside her. She embraced him tightly to hold him in place. He kissed her smiling lips once more and nibbled on her ear before whispering “I love you.” She felt her heart swell once more, but bit her lip as to not say anything. He kissed her shoulder and moved down to her cleavage, where his trail of kisses stopped and he laid his head. She kissed the top of it.

            As his head lay on her bosom, she stroked his hair and hummed the song he was playing on the pianoforte earlier that afternoon. He smiled.

            “You really did enjoy the song?” He asked as he touched his lips to her breast.

            “I did!” She still stroked his hair. “And you still have not told me who it is by, or even its title.”

            He rolled to her side and smiled as he watched her turn to face him.

            “I’d really like to learn it,” she said, smiling.

            “It is called _La femme avec des yeux lumineux_.*” He was becoming sleepy. 

            “‘The woman with sparkling eyes’... how sweet.”  She smiled still. “Is it by some new French _artiste_? That must be why I don’t know it. Did your sister send it to you?”

            “It is by a new _artiste_ , quite unknown.” He smiled and took his hand to her cheek and brushed back a lock of hair.

            “He deserves to be very famous. So talented.”

            “You think? I will relay the message, I’m sure he will appreciate it.” He gave a small chuckle as his eyelids began to weigh.

            “You know him personally?” She looked surprised.

            “ _Oui, madame_.” He grinned. “ _Il s’appele_ _Christophe_ Brandon.”

            “What? You jest with me, my dear.” She smiled and caressed his cheek.

            “I wouldn’t lie to you, my Marianne.”

“You wrote a song?” She was more surprised still.

            “I did.” His eyes were half closed.

            “My husband, so very talented,” she smiled. “In more ways than I had imagined.”

            “What other ways do you see me as talented, Madame?” He smiled and kissed her lips.

            “In _every_ way,” she smiled a slightly sly smile.

            “You are too kind.”

“What inspired you?” She asked, imagining what wonderful landscape, force of nature or piece of literature could lead someone to do such a thing.

            “You, love.”

            “Me?” She had forgotten the name of the song for a moment, but then she remembered and it seemed obvious it was about someone. An object of affection.

“Of course. Who else?”

            “But there are so many things that are greater and more inspiring… so much better than silly little me.”

            “Nothing is better than you, my sweet.” He held her waist and gave a peck on her nose, which sat inches from his own. He then rubbed his nose on hers gingerly.

            “What about the sunshine on a bright clear day!”

            “It does not shine as bright as your eyes.”

            She blushed and smiled. “The warmth of a summer’s day…”

            “Not as warm as your beautiful smile when you are genuinely happy.”

            “The smell of blossoming flowers in Spring.”

            “They do not smell as divine as your hair, your skin.” He pulled her closer to smell her neck. She giggled and blushed a deeper shade of pink.

            “The feel of rain on your skin, certainly nothing is more divine than that.”

            “Your skin on my skin, love. When we touch, I feel giddy with joy.”

            She was starting to tear up with his sweet words, but she pressed on.

            “The chirping of birds in the morning.”

            “I’d much rather hear your sweet voice calling my name.” His eyes were closed now.

            “Christopher!” She was becoming very abashed.

            “Yes, like that,” he whispered in her ear. She blushed crimson.

            “Going to the theatre and hearing your favorite Opera.”

            If he weren’t so near sleep’s warm embrace, he would worry about her arguing; wonder if he was being too eager in his declarations, if it was overwhelming her. But he just opened his eyes lazily and smiled.

            “Your singing is more angelic than any opera known to man.”

            “To taste your favorite dessert after a long day…”

            “Better to taste your lips every moment of the day. So much sweeter.”

            She was crying, silently emotional, and he could not see it in the haziness of his state.

            “The vastness of the sky and all the stars upon it.”

            “It is certainly not as vast as my love for you, my sweet Marianne. If I could reach the skies, I would pull down a star for you, to try and prove how much I love you so.**”

            She fell silent for a moment, taking in all the beautiful words he had just said to her. It moved her more than any poetry she had ever read. More tears pricked her eyes.

            “When did you write it? I would have heard you on the pianoforte, yet I don’t remember you ever playing it before.”

            “You wouldn’t have heard it, no. I wrote most of it before we were married. Perfected it later, in moments you were not listening.”

            She did not think it was able to become more emotional than she already had been, but her heart proved her wrong. He had written her a love song even before they wed. He had loved her, truly loved her, for longer than she could imagine.

            “Why then have you not played it for me before?”

            “You would not enjoy it.” Sleep made him very honest.

            With a heavy heart she remembered how she had treated him when they were first married. He was right, she would not have appreciated it, even if it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her. She cupped her hand on his cheek, tears silently flowing down her face. His eyes were closed and he was closer than ever to falling into the abyss of slumber.

            “Thank you, Chris. For the song. I… I love it. I really do.”

            He kissed her nose once more, eyes still closed. “I am glad. I love you.”

            And he pulled her by the waist to lie closer to him.

            She watched the storm raging out the window, nestled in his arms, his chin resting on her head. Raindrops violently hit the windowpane and the only thing illuminating the sky was the occasional lightning.

            She thought about what she had almost said to him while they made love. About how he had made her feel that night, about how he made her feel every day. Did she love him? Could it be? But what she felt for him was nothing like what she remembered feeling for Willoughby. It was so very different. It was… stronger somehow. More soothing. Safer. It felt… better? _Was_ this love?

            His breathing was slower. It felt as though he were finally asleep.

            “I think I love you too, Christopher.”

            She regretted it the moment she said it. She remembered how she had heard him say it while he thought she slept. What if he had heard? She was not sure how she felt. What if she gave him false hope? But then something deep inside her burst out and wished he _did_ hear it. She pulled away to look him in the face. There was no reaction.

            “Chris? Did you hear me?” She whispered, cupping his cheek and lightly touching her lips to his.

            But he slept soundly, unaware that his deepest wish had just come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I took that title from Sex and the City. lol. The episode where the Russian Guy writes Carrie a song.  
> ** If I could reach the stars  
> I'd pull one down for you  
> Shine it on my heart  
> So you could see the truth  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nndb5z7ZAn4
> 
> That song was totally stuck in my head the day I worte this.


	19. Words Unsaid

            The following week, the last of their wedding trip, had a very confused Marianne. She felt the constant need to tell him she loved him. Her heart swelled at just the sight of him, a sight she had had for months but that somehow now was different, better, lighting up her whole day. It swelled to the point of bursting from her chest, floating up her throat. Her mind, however, refused to be convinced. How could it be possible? No. She could not let it pass her lips, not before she was utterly sure, for once said, it could not be unsaid. Her mind insisted this could not be love, for she had already loved in her lifetime. It had to be something other. But he had also loved before, and he loved her now nonetheless. She knew it. She felt it. His words, his actions, all of it came from his heart, she was sure.

            The confusion in her mind was not shared by her body, which longed to be close to his in every waking moment. The rain had not persisted, and knowing of her wishes to thoroughly enjoy the seaside in whatever time they had left, Colonel Brandon would invite her to outings constantly, but more often than not she would refuse, for she could not be as close to him, touch him as much as she wished – needed – to when they were not secure in the privacy of their cottage. She preferred to sit by him and have his arms around her, his body pressed to hers as they read or conversed. Then his lips would touch her ear and whisper his love, and that boiling feeling in her being would effervesce more vividly and demand to be let out, but her mind would not consent. As a compromise, she would touch her lips to his and proceed to kiss him passionately and deeply, and often beg him to take her to their bed, so her body could show him what her lips would not say. But making love to him only overwhelmed her senses and she felt the need to say those words with more urgency.

            Colonel Brandon had noticed the slight change in her demeanor but would not allow himself to presume or hope for anything. This, what they had now, was absolute perfection and he could not, he should not dare to ask for more.

            He woke up the morning following his profuse declarations of love extremely worried that, in the haze of his pleasure and sleep induced state, he had said more than he should, been too vehement in his confessions, and that he would certainly have caused her to retreat and become more guarded. But she had met him with a wide smile and had straddled him to once again make passionate love to him.

            After breakfast, she had sat him on the pianoforte, sitting herself beside him on the bench, and encouraged him to play the song he had written for her over and over, as she smiled and caressed him, his cheeks, his hair, his back, his thighs, and watched his hands closely so she could learn it. Her praise and gratitude were constant as well.

            Over the next couple of days, there would always be a moment of the day when she would sit by the window, away from him who would be sitting on the sofa, often reading the newspaper, and she would sketch something. She would often look out the window, making him believe she was sketching their view, but little did he know that though the view was indeed being drawn, the work that advanced the most was that of his portrait, which she would hide behind the landscape when he wished to see how she was progressing. She felt the need to eternalize his beautiful, loving face on paper and carry it with her always, though she would ask Elinor to do a better job of it when they returned to Delaford.

            Unfortunately, the day of their departing was upon them. Colonel Brandon, as it was inherit to him, worried and was insecure that this newly found, even more profound level of bliss would remain behind in their seaside rented home. To go back to what they had prior to this last week would be more than enough, if he was still permitted to express his love freely.

            But as they stopped in a small town for the horses – and themselves – to be fed and rested before continuing on their journey, as they walked through town after their meal, she stopped in front of the window of a small jeweler. He, of course, quickly tried to see what it was that had caught her eye so he could bestow it upon her, but she quickly averted her eyes to look into his.

            “Darling Christopher,” she smiled. “I should like to go inside this shop. But you must promise you will not try and see what I will purchase.”

            He looked at her, puzzled. “Am I to remain with my eyes closed?” He smiled.

            “Just occupy yourself with admiring something or other. That should suffice. I shan’t be long.”

            “I enjoy admiring you.”

            She smiled and touched his cheek, almost leaning in for a kiss before realizing they were in public. She pulled back immediately with a blush and he chuckled, happy to find she was now so drawn to him that she found it hard to restrain herself, like the proper lady she was and had been all this time. He felt ashamed to admit it, but he sometimes wished she could be bold and improper with him as she had been with Willoughby. It was her disposition, and being herself so completely would absolutely assure him she felt strongly for him.

            “Why do you wish to buy this on your own? Let me make a gift of it to you.” He caressed her hand in the nook of his arm.

            “It is a surprise. Please indulge me, sweetheart?”

            “How could I not?” He smiled.

            They entered the shop and he let her wander as he stayed by the door. She exchanged a few quiet words with the clerk and very soon she was reaching for her pocket and paying him with her pin money in exchange for two small parcels. She held onto them tightly until they were back in the privacy of the carriage. She presented both parcels to him with a smile.

            “Open them,” she urged him excitedly.

            “What are these for?”

            “For you. For being a wonderful man, I guess.”

            He felt overwhelmed. “I love them,” he said and leaned into brush her lips with his. “I love you.”

            “You haven’t even opened them. You might not like them,” she laughed.

            “No such possibility.”

            He opened the first. It was a gold men’s ring with a small black stone.

            “I wear a ring.” She held up her hand with the diamond he had bestowed on it. “You should wear one as well.” She smiled, her heart urging her to say it was a symbol of her love. But she didn’t. “If you do not wish to…”

            “I wish to,” he cut her off with a smile. She took the ring from the box and placed it on his finger, then kissed it and his hand.

            “Perhaps we could have a lock of my hair set into it.”

            “I would love that,” he said with a wide smile, giddy as a child.

            The other parcel contained a gold pendant, much like the one she constantly wore around her neck, but this one had a C engraved on it. He looked up at her, not quite understanding it, and she was unclasping her necklace.

            “This one is not so much for you as it is for me.” She smiled and took it from its box, sliding it to rest beside her M on her chain.

            “So I can always carry you with me.”

            She turned her back to him, offering the necklace so he could place it back on her neck and clasp it. He did so with a smile, his heart swollen to the point of bursting through his ribcage. It was a most touching gesture from her. He planted kisses on her neck and shoulders as he closed her necklace, reaffirming his profound love for her with each tender touch of his lips to her soft skin. She giggled as her hairs stood on end, her heart filling with warmth. She turned to kiss his lips profoundly, for it was the only thing she could do to stop them from professing love.


	20. A Most Unwelcome Missive

They arrived at Delaford the following day a little before noon. Marianne went to their bedchamber to wash up and change and he met her at the bottom of the stairs do escort her to the dining room for lunch.

            He could not be happier, he thought. He finally had the married life he had envisioned. They talked and laughed together, he shared her bed, and he could profess his love. And what is more important was that she seemed happy with all of it, though she herself had not professed love for him. Perhaps she never would, but after all they had been through, it did not bother him any longer. It would be wonderful to hear, but he was very much content with the way things were. He could be himself, could bestow his kisses on her as often as he wished, shower her with love, and she showed him fondness and regard every day, much more than he had ever hoped for after their wedding night. He no longer saw constant preoccupation and occasional sadness in her eyes. They were always shinning, reflecting the smiles she always had for him.

            She was indeed very happy with her husband. If someone said to her months ago on her wedding eve that she would be so happy and have such strong feelings for him, so much stronger than friendship, so much so she did not know, could not be sure if it was love or not, and make her doubt whether she had indeed ever loved Willoughby, she would not believe them.

            They sat at the table, reluctant to let go of each other to take their places opposite each other. They ate and conversed rather merrily, as had been the norm of late. While the servants cleared the table for pudding, the letters that had arrived during the month they were away were brought to Colonel Brandon. As he sorted through them, his countenance changed when he laid eyes on one. He put it aside and continued to look through the rest, but he was now grave. She noticed.

            “Is something the matter, dearest?”

            He got up, his dessert untouched, and took most of the letters in his hands, leaving the one which changed his mood and two others midway between him and her on the table.

            “It seems you have post as well,” he said gravely.

            “Probably Mama, perhaps Margaret.” She smiled. “But what is the matter? Christopher?”

            He walked out, leaving her puzzled. “Christopher?” She walked over to where he had left the letters and picked them up. Two were as she had imagined, from her mother, but one… It was addressed to a Miss Marianne Dashwood, and it was from Willoughby.

            Her heart sank to her stomach. She stared at it fixedly for a few moments, until she remembered Christopher, his countenance. She rushed out of the room and looked around the foyer and could not see him. She opened the front door and could not spot him anywhere in the vicinity of the manor either. She looked for him in his study, the library, the music room, their bedchamber… but he was nowhere to be found. Could he have gone out? He couldn’t have gone far. She put the letters in the hidden pockets in the folds of her skirts and went out to find him.

            While she walked, Willoughby’s letter weighed in her pocket and on her mind. What could he have possibly written to her? What could he have to say? He had already made it clear in his last letter to her, before even he was married, that he was to marry another and that what they had was naught more than a misunderstanding. Further explanations as to his motives were made by her husband himself, before she had even had a proper friendship with him, and later by the villain himself, to Elinor, while she lay ill in bed upstairs in Cleveland. So it could not be anything to that respect. All that had to be said had been said.

            Could it be that he was declaring his love? What she had always longed to hear but never had? Not from him. But what use had it now, both married and not to each other. Did she still _want_ to hear such words from him? She heard them constantly, beautifully, from another man, and she was quite content with it. It was so much better than she could have ever imagined….

            Could he be proposing they elope? If he loved her, that would be the solution. Would she go with him? Leave what she had behind? Leave the certain for the uncertain?

            She found herself on Elinor’s doorstep. Perhaps Christopher was there, to confer with Edward. She knocked, hope and nerves intertwining in her chest.

            “My dearest sister! How are you?” Elinor bid her at the door.

            She was escorted inside but there was no sign of Colonel Brandon.

            “How are you? I haven’t seen you in such a long time!”

            “I… I am well,” she managed in the haze of her worriedness. “And you?” She touched her sister’s belly, already swollen.

            “We are well! Do tell, how was your trip?”

            “It was… wonderful.”

            Wonderful. It really had been. She did not remember ever being so happy in her life as she had been in the past month. The past few months, to be truthful. All due to her husband.

            As they chatted, Marianne forgot about what troubled her for a bit. Edward walked in, and she hoped he would at least mention her husband. Before even giving her any notice, he went to his wife and kissed her forehead, then rubbed her abdomen.  They made for a pretty portrait, a happy family, like she had always hoped she would have herself. For the longest time, the face beside hers in her mind’s eye had been Willoughby, even after she knew that could never be. But was it still? She searched for the portrait in her mind and found real images, memories of her and Christopher. His kisses, his embraces, the smiles he put on her face. She needed to find him. She excused herself from the Ferrars’ home with the promise of being back on the morrow.

            She wandered some more before deciding to head back to the house and wait for him there. “ _Miss Marianne Dashwood_.” How provocative had Willoughby been! How disrespectful. Had he always been like this? And she had loved him? Had she? That was not an endearing quality. Meanwhile, Colonel Brandon had known of her disposition, and claimed to already have loved her, but he did not interfere upon seeing her preference for Willoughby. Christopher respected her feelings, like a gentleman. Willoughby did not respect her at all.

            She came across Eliza’s cottage and all of Willoughby’s indiscretions came rushing back to her. He was definitely an awful man. She did not wish to have any contact with or news from a man as such. She did not wish to hurt her husband, who she cared for so deeply and ardently. She did not wish to be parted with him. Ever.

            She knocked on Eliza’s door in the hopes of finding Christopher there. Eliza opened it, holding her son.

            “Mrs. Brandon! Come in!”

            It was the definitive moment. Seeing her son was like laying eyes on Willoughby once more, yet she felt nothing. She just wished to find her husband. She walked in and sat down, to not be rude. But she wanted to rush back to her house.

            “How was your trip?” Eliza asked. Her son, now on the floor, tumbled to Marianne and asked to be picked up with movements of his arms. She smiled and lifted him to her lap. The children in her mind’s eye, the children she was to have, once looked like him. But now they had blond hair and hazel eyes. They even had a crooked nose, like Christopher’s.

            “I’ll wager it was a good trip. Cousin Brandon was here this morning briefly. He has never looked so happy.”

            Marianne looked up from Jonathan and smiled.

            “Yes, it was a marvelous trip.”

            “You are changed as well, Mrs. Brandon. And you have lost your fear of holding a child, I see.” Eliza smiled.

            Marianne was embarrassed to remember how she shied away from the child every time she had visited Eliza.

            “Are you with child, Mrs. Brandon?”

            Marianne looked at her with eyes wide in surprise.

            “Forgive my forwardness, it’s just you look so comfortable with Jonathan now…”

            “Please, call me Marianne, Eliza. May I call you Eliza?”

            “Yes, please.”

            “I am not with child, no. But I wish it. How cute would a baby with your cousin’s features be?” Marianne smiled as she played with little Jonathan.

            “Cousin Brandon would be very happy.”

            Marianne remembered he was still somewhere thinking she had given Willoughby liberty to write to her.

            “Eliza, I must go. I will return for a proper visit, I promise. And you are of course, free to go to the manor whenever you wish. But right now, there is something I must do.”

            And in a hurry she left.

 

            Once again at the manor she searched all the rooms in the downstairs area. The library, the music room, the parlor, his study. He was nowhere. Had he left her? Had he thought she was plotting with Willoughby, deceiving him? Had he thought she would rather go with Willoughby? There might be a time when she indeed would. Despair began to fill her heart.

            The governess came up to her while she searched the dining room, where he was not present either.

            “Mrs. Brandon?” Marianne looked back startled. “Are you to sup, madam? Mr. Brandon already said he will not be supping. I am not sure whether I should set the table or not.”

            “No, I don’t think I will be supping either. Thank you.”

            The governess was about to leave, and Marianne hurriedly said

            “Mr. Brandon, you said he won’t be supping. Do you know where he is?”

            “He is in his study, Madam.”

            “I was just in his study, he was not there.”

            “The upstairs study, Madam.”

            Upstairs? She barely remembered of the existence of that study. He hardly ever used it. She set off to go find him. It was not long before she opened the door to a charming study. The fire was lit to her right, but he was not there. Behind the desk, which sat in the middle of the room, on either side of it, were French doors which led out to a balcony. She stepped inside and closed the study door, walking to the open door to the balcony. There he was, leaning against the ledge, his back to her, watching the sunset. Below them, their back garden shone orange in the fading sunlight.

            “I have been all over this estate looking for you, Christopher!” She said rather desperately.

            “I have been here,” he said, not turning around to face her.

            She walked up to him and embraced him from behind. “Why have you been hiding from me, my darling?” She said into his shoulder blade.

            “I have not been hiding.”

            “You never use this study. I barely remembered its existence. So yes, you have been hiding.”

            “I did not wish to be in your way.”

            “Chris, listen to me, please.” She let him go and moved to stand beside him. He turned to face her and she could see he had been shedding tears.

            “I have never given that man the liberty to address me as such.” She took his hands in hers. “I have never given him the liberty to address me at all! That day, in the inn, it was the first and only time I have seen him since that ball in London, before my fever. And what you saw was the only contact we had, against my will.” Her hands went to his cheeks and began to caress him. She brushed a lock of his hair from his eyes.

            He, who had not been looking her in the eyes, looked into them.

            “Believe me, my dear. I am Mrs. Brandon. _Brandon_. And proud of it. Happy for it.” She kissed his lips and he softly kissed back. “Even though I am not a very good mistress to your estate.”

            “You are an excellent mistress. The only mistress for it.” He kissed her.

            She smiled. “I didn’t even remember the existence of this room!”

            They kissed once more.

            She took the letter from her pocket. “Here. If you wish to read it, you are free to.” She placed it on the ledge. “But please promise me, whatever it might say, you will not act on it.” She embraced him, her curls drowning him. “And I do not ask this of you out of worry for him. I only have your well-being at heart. God knows what might happen when you act in anger.”

            _Whatever it might say?_ He turned his head from her curls to look at the letter. It sat on the ledge, the seal unbroken.

            “You have not read it?”

            “No. I have no business with him nor interest in whatever he might wish to say.” His heart filled with warmth. “But you are free to read it.”

            “As much as curiosity gnaws at me, I cannot. I love you too much and I don’t think I would bear it. And to not take action, as you ask of me…”

            She looked up at him with a smile.

            “I think…” _I love you too_ , her body was screaming at her, but her lips refused to say it.

            “You think what, my love?”

            “I think I should like to go to bed.” She took the letter and started to walk towards the door.

            She took the letter. Perhaps she was to read it after all. She was just saying the words to make him happy.

            “You go ahead, I will be there in a while.”

            She stopped and looked back.

            “Oh no, you misunderstand me. I think I wish to go to bed, but I am certain you should accompany me.” She smiled and stretched out her arm.

            He smiled and took her hand, interlacing his fingers in hers. As they passed the crackling fire, she held him back a moment and, with no hesitation, threw Willoughby’s letter into the fire.

            His heart swelled in his chest. She had never said she loved him, but renouncing Willoughby as such was the closest she could come without actually saying the words.

            She looked back at him with a smile, and he squeezed her hand, his heart leaping in joy.


	21. Shooting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd advise a couple of deep breaths right here.  
> ....  
> Ok, you may proceed.

            Marianne had not been feeling her best for over a fortnight now. This discomfort had started shortly after they arrived from their wedding trip. At first, she did not wish to alarm her husband, and she was successful in keeping this from him. But as the discomfort persisted, she became vexed with the daily sickness, headaches and tiredness and lack of motivation to perform her duties, and Christopher soon saw through her. He, of course, worried and clung to her, wanting to be of help and relieve, and had wished to call for the doctor for the past three days, but all the fuss only served to vex her more.

            To worsen things still, the previous day had brought Sir John and a Sergeant Crane, a friend of theirs from their time in the Indies, for a prolonged visit. She had to play her part as the gracious hostess when she did not feel even remotely inclined to.

            Colonel Brandon was worried about his wife. He wondered if she was sick or if she had already grown tired of him. Neither option was much comfort. Her discomfort had caused her to become a bit more distant than she had been since their trip, and he felt the loss. He should have known, he should have imagined. Happiness… it never seemed to last with him. Why, he did not know. He thought he deserved some joy in life, but it seemed that it was never in the cards for him for long.

            He had arranged to go shooting with his visiting friends, but if Marianne wished, if she needed him, he would send them on their way alone and happily remain with her. He woke before her, and kissed her awake, praying she would not be so vexed as to push him away.

            “Good morning, my Marianne,” he uttered with a smile.

            “Good morning, Christopher,” she shield her eyes from the light that began to tear in through the window.

            “How do you feel?”

            “I am all right.”

            She still did not look herself, he noticed.

            “Allow me to call the doctor, love, please.”

            “I am well, Chris, please stop your worry,” she said a little irritated.

            At that moment he made up his mind that he would call the doctor the following day, should she not improve.

            “I am to go shooting with the lads today. But if you wish me to, I will stay with you.”

            “No, Chris, go. Please go, have a wonderful time. And when you return I shall have risen and be well. But right now I need some more sleep.”

            She was not unkind, but he couldn’t help but feel that she was banishing him from her presence. “Very well. I love you,” he said and pressed his lips against hers and she only half-heartedly returned his kiss.

            He rose, a tightness in his chest as he proceeded to his dressing room to prepare for the day.

 

            Marianne rose an hour or two later and proceeded to her duties. A good strong dinner must be prepared for the men when they arrived, so she saw to it that the kitchen began their preparations. As she roamed around the house tending to her duties, still not feeling too well, she remembered Elinor, only a few months past, complaining of discomfort and tiredness in the early weeks of her condition. A string of excitement mixed with apprehension pulled in her belly as she came to the realization that might be her case. Could it be that she was with child? Yes, it certainly could. But she had no more time to ponder on that as the sound of a carriage approaching the sweep rustled her out of her thoughts. It was just a little before lunchtime, too early for the men to be back even if the day had been bad for sport. She was crossing the foyer to the door when it burst open and Sir John and Sergeant Crane came in, carrying a man – Christopher! – one of them holding him by the arms and the other by his legs. He was passed out, and his shirt was stained with blood. Blood dripped from his torso to the wooden floorboards of the foyer.

            One of the men snapped her out of her shock induced haze when he ordered her to call the doctor. She rushed to Christopher’s study to write a note to a doctor and send it with a servant to fetch him quickly.

            “Where can we set him down?” Sir John asked in urgency.

            She ran from the study, the note half written. “Anywhere! The first room you can find, upstairs, quickly!” She was overwhelmed and still in shock, but managed to order them upstairs and then return to the note as they dragged him up. She scribbled down something she hoped was comprehensible, and send the servant off with the carriage to bring back the doctor.

            Marianne rushed up to the room. She wanted to see her husband, hold him, but his friends did not let her in. Sir John came to her and explained that Colonel Brandon had been shot.

            “Shot?!?” She exclaimed.

            They had been in the woods, hunting, and a bullet came and hit him in the abdomen. They could not say where it came from, and saw no other hunters around, which would have explained it being an accident of some sort. She demanded to go see him, and he insisted she wouldn’t, for there was nothing she could do just now, and he would not be aware she was there, for he had passed out from the pain and blood loss on the way home.

            Marianne was in tears, worried for her husband’s well-being, for his life. Crane came out of the room and asked the governess, Alice, who stood by Mrs. Brandon, to fetch him some cloth, alcohol and a knife.

            “A knife?” Marianne asked, alarmed. “What are you to do?”

            “Madam, I assure you I mean your husband no harm. I’ve… we’ve had experience with similar situations when we were stationed in the Indies and I’m simply going to extract the bullet while the doctor does not arrive. If it stays in too long it might cause a nasty infection.”

            Marianne only became more worried, and she felt weak, like she was to faint at any second. Alice brought what Crane had asked for and he went back into the room. Sir John followed, and before he closed the door behind him, she could see her husband lying shirtless on the bed, Crane holding the shirt against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

Minutes went by which seemed like hours. Marianne paced the hallway outside the room. Just this morning everything was fine. He had woken her with kisses and she had taken it for granted, due to her vexation. What if he died? She hadn’t even kissed him goodbye properly. And she had never told him she loved him. Though she stubbornly tried to deny it and push it aside, she could not do it any longer. It had been stronger and stronger every day, ready to burst out at any minute, but she had never said it. What if he died without knowing? And what if she indeed was with child? How could life play such a cruel hand?

Suddenly, she heard Christopher scream inside the closed door. They were horrible screams of agony, unlike anything she had ever heard. She felt pain shoot through her heart upon hearing those screams. She felt so helpless. There was nothing she could do to end her love’s suffering. And soon they stopped. She didn’t know what was worse, hearing the screams or the silence that ensued. At least when he was screaming she knew he was alive.

The doctor came up the stairs and Elinor followed. Doctor Abbott immediately saw himself into the room and Einor went to her.

“Oh, dearest. Your servant took the liberty of fetching me as well. He thought I could be of help. Marianne, how are you?”

She could not hold back the tears any longer and was soon sobbing. “He was shot, Elinor. Shot! What if something happens to him? I could not bear it.”

“You need to calm down, dearest! Everything will be fine. Come, let’s go sit and wait.” Elinor escorted her to the sitting room down stairs, but there were things other than tears that she could not hold back any longer. She ran through the front door and retched all her breakfast on the lawn. Elinor followed and held her.

“Dearest, are you well? Perhaps the doctor should see you as well?”

“I am well, as much as I can be, I think. I have been feeling discomfort for over a week now, the day’s events just seemed to worsen it.”

“Are you… can you be… with child?”

“I… I believe it is possible, yes,” she said discouraged.

“Oh, Marianne,” Elinor rubbed her back.

She took her to the parlor and sat her down. She instructed Alice to bring some herbal tea, a kind that made Elinor’s sickness much more bearable when she was prone to them, and so Alice did, but nothing could calm Marianne down. She could not stop crying until the doctor came out with an update.

“Mrs. Brandon, fortunately the bullet did not affect any vital organs, though he lost quite a bit of blood and there is still risk of an infection. I gave him something for the pain, and between that and the infection that might arise, he will not be responsive. But for now he is as well as can be expected.

“Thank you doctor. And thank you Sir John, and thank you Sergeant Crane,” she said feebly. “Thank you all very much. Now if you will excuse me, I need to see my husband.”

Elinor saw to the gentlemen along with Alice while Marianne climbed the stairs to see him. One of the maids was finishing up the cleaning. The men had held Colonel Brandon for her to change the bloody sheets and now she was cleaning the floor.

Christopher lay shirtless, his abdomen bandaged, the sheets pulled up to his waist. He was pale, his hair damp with sweat. He looked so weak, so fragile, as she had never seen him. He was always so strong and composed and made her feel safe, but now she was the one who wished she could protect him somehow.

When the maid was done with her cleaning, Marianne sat on the edge of the bed, facing him, and took his hand in hers. She kissed it and held it against her cheek. He felt feverish.

“I love you, Christopher. So much. Please don’t leave me.” Tears rolled down her cheeks onto the back of his hand.

 

*****

 

            Over the next couple of days, Delaford received a great number of visitors. Christopher still hadn’t woken up and he had been running a fever ever since they took out the bullet. The doctor could not say with certainty that he was out of danger, and Marianne was never at ease.

            The visitors she received only seemed to upset her more. Most of them were elder neighbors and would go on about how she should not worry, for Colonel Brandon would certainly have her provided for, should a worse fate befall him. She was glad Elinor had stayed with her and that her mother and younger sister had come from Barton. They would distract the visitors and change the subject before Marianne could be short with them or simply breakdown and cry. Edward would always join them after he had tended to his duties and also tried to lift Marianne’s spirits. Eliza and young Jonathan would be present as well, with a daily visit.

            The words her visitors said would haunt her every minute of the day. Had she been so cold and foolish that all the neighbors had seen through her and how their marriage, at first, was not all it ought to be? Had she led them to believe she had only married for money? How could they? Money was nothing, meant nothing, if she could not share her life with her husband, if he could not meet their child. She loved him, with all her heart, more than she had ever thought possible for one to love. She wanted more time with him. They had not had enough time, especially since she was so foolish at first, had been foolish for so long. If only she had loved him right away… still, it wouldn’t have had been enough time. He could not die, no. Life would not be so cruel as to make her love a man so deeply only to take him away from her. That could not happen. Her discomfort was daily eased by Elinor’s suggestion of tea, which only gave her more certainty that she was in fact with child. Her child needed a father.

            Whenever she could, she would sit with Christopher. She didn’t know what to do, so she read to him, like he would to her when she wasn’t fully recovered from her fever. Doctor Abbott advised her it would not be wise to move him to their bedchamber, so she took up sleeping in the room he was in. Not that she did much sleeping.

            That evening, after they had all had dinner, Marianne left her family in the sitting room and went to Christopher. He was still in the same state, though his color had returned slightly and his fever did not run as high. She sat beside him in the bed and picked up the book from the table beside the bed, finding her place and picking up the reading right where she had left off. She laid with her head on his chest, on the right side, the side which was unharmed.

            After reading a few pages, she could not go any longer, her anxiety overtaking her and making her break into tears.

            “I miss you so much, Christopher. Please wake up.”

            Her tears rolled down her cheeks and onto his chest, soaking through his nightshirt.

            She went back to the sitting room, where Mrs. Dashwood, Margaret, the Ferrars, Eliza and Jonathan, Sir John and Sergeant Crane sat. They tried for cheerful conversation, to take Marianne’s mind off of her troubles, but it was no use. Suddenly, Alice came into the room.

            “Mrs. Brandon, a Mr. Willoughby here to see you.”

            She must have not heard Alice well, for that was impossible. It could not be. But he walked in behind Alice, shamelessly holding his head up high. He must have thought he would not have such a large audience, for shock overtook him for a moment, especially when he laid eyes on Eliza and her son.

            If she needed any more confirmation of her love for Christopher, it came now. The sight of Willoughby in her house did not bring her joy or relief, it only brought her revolt. How dare he?

            “What are you doing here?” She asked angrily as the whole of the room looked at him in awe of his audacity.

            “I… I must speak to you. In private.” He managed to say with some dignity.

            “I have no business with you. Surely you mean to speak to the mother of your child?” Marianne said in outrage as she stood facing him and pointed back at Eliza, who looked shocked and ashamed. “You have much to speak of with her. Perhaps you might wish to meet the child you left behind?” Marianne was very agitated.

            Willoughby looked confused by her words. She wished to bypass him and go upstairs to Christopher, let someone other deal with him, but he grabbed her and pulled her to the foyer, where they could have some peace to have a conversation.

            “Unhand me!” She yelled, and he did, but pleaded

            “Marianne, I am here for you. Talk to me.”

            “Here for me? I have no need for you to be here!”

            “I… I thought we had an understanding…” he said puzzled.

            “An understanding? I am a married woman! And you a married man! These are the understandings we have!”

            “But I… I thought that when I received no response to my letter that… you had agreed…”

            “Agreed?”

            “I did this for us, Marianne. For you to be rid of him, for us to be together.”

            Marianne was hit by a wave of sickness and dizziness. She would collapse, she knew it. Did she hear right? Could it be?

            “What?!? You… _you_ did this? To Christopher?”

            “I told you of my plan in the letter, I thought you had agreed!”

            That damned letter, if she had read it… she might have prevented this?

            “How could you!?” She screamed, outraged. “How could you!?” She took her fists and slammed them against his chest, his arms, his head, anywhere she could strike him while he tried to defend himself from her blows, puzzled. “HOW DARE YOU, YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A MAN? Get out, get out of my house, get out of my house at once!!” She yelled as she continued to strike him.

            Upon hearing her altered tone, everyone in the sitting room rose. The men led the way and tried to hold her and calm her down. As she was pulled away from Willoughby, she managed to kick him before he fled. Then, all the adrenaline left her body and she finally collapsed as Edward and Sir John held her. As she was weak in their arms, she mumbled feebly

            “Stop him… he… shot Christopher.”


	22. Revelations

            Before he opened his eyes, Colonel Brandon felt a sharp pain on his left side. If he tried to move or inhale deeply, it only became worse. He heard the crackling fire and felt the softness of a bed beneath him.

            He opened his eyes with some difficulty. He quickly thanked the heavens the drapes were closed, for if the candlelight hurt his eyes, he could only imagine what sunlight would feel like, should it be day.

            He did not remember much. He was hunting with his friends. Then he only saw flashes of being carried through woods, a carriage ride. Blood. Pain. Much pain. He tried to move and his side hurt again. He raised his hand to his abdomen with much difficulty and felt it was bandaged. But no one was in the room with him to enlighten him.

            Then he heard screams from afar. A woman’s screams. She was clearly distressed. It was Marianne, he could recognize her voice anywhere. He had to go to her. He moved to sit up in bed and was stricken by horrible pain. He felt very weak and feverish. He tried to get up but found he really could not. Despair consumed him. Marianne’s screams had stopped, but he did not know if that was a good or bad occurrence. He needed to know what had happened.

 

***

 

            Edward carried his sister-in-law into her bedchamber. His wife and mother-in-law followed. All were shocked with the news that Willoughby had been the one to shoot Colonel Brandon, and Sir John and Sergeant Crane wasted no time in pursuing him as they heard the news, so he could be brought to justice. Edward was left to tend to the ladies.

            He placed Marianne on her bed, and let his wife and mother-in-law tend to her., as they were much more suited to do so. They had orders for Alice for warm water and cloths, and he felt it best for him to leave them to it. The doctor was due back at any moment to see to Brandon, and he then could check on Marianne as well.

            As Margaret and Eliza were left downstairs to console one another and baby Jonathan, a man at the front door to stop Willoughby should he be enough of a fool to return, Edward decided he should check on his friend, his brother. It had been long since someone had been in to see him.

            He was surprised to find him sitting up. He wasn’t in that position when the doctor last came, and Marianne had been the only one in there afterwards, she certainly did not have the strength to change his position in bed. He must have awaken, though his eyes were now closed.

            “Brandon?” He asked, and the Colonel’s eyes opened.

            “Ed..Edward,” his voice was hoarse from the lack of use. “Thank goodness you are here. I heard Marianne screaming. What happened? What happened to me? I remember nothing,” he asked with as much urgency as he could impart with the pain he felt and his dry throat.

            Edward pulled up a chair and sat next to him.

            “You were shot while hunting with Sir John and Crane. That was three days ago. They brought you back and the doctor tended to you and Marianne has been by your side, in despair every day.”

            “Shot? How? Did a weapon malfunction?”

            “No one knew, precisely. Another hunter was the guess, an accident, though we all found it very strange that he had not seen his error and come at once to your aid.”

            “And Marianne? It was her screams I heard, was it not? Is she well? What happened?”

            “Willoughby was here.”

            “What?!” His heart filled with despair. He had surely come for Marianne. Had she left him? Was he now alone in the world once again? Would she prefer to be disgraced than endure him? He remembered how strange she had been the past week or so, and how life always seemed to steal him of his happiness. He braced himself for somber news. “What was he doing here?”

            “He wished to speak to Marianne… and it seems that he was the one who shot you.”

            Colonel Brandon scoffed. Of course the scoundrel would want to do that. He would want revenge. In the most dishonorable way possible.

            “Upon hearing the confession, Marianne became beside herself with fury, and screamed and struck him. That is what you heard. It took myself and Sir John to hold her back from him, and that allowed him to flee, since we were not aware of such confession. But Sir John and Crane went after him immediately once she informed us of this.”

            Colonel Brandon was surprised, and his face did not hide it. She attacked Willoughby, for him. Warmth spread in his chest. She must really feel something for him. “And Marianne? Where is she?” He asked with urgency.

            “The blow of that knowledge took its toll, it seems, and she collapsed. She remains unconscious in her bed, under the care of my wife and our mother-in-law until such a time as the doctor returns to check on you, and can therefore tend to her. He should be here at any minute now,” Edward checked his pocket watch.

            But that was not enough to soothe Colonel Brandon. He found the strength to pull himself out of bed, under Edwards protests and attempts to stop him. He would not be stopped, he must see his Marianne, see if she was well, and all that Edward could to was fetch him clothes to cover himself with and avoid more strain on his part.

            Colonel Brandon dragged himself down the hall enduring the pain and barely showing it, Edward supporting him, and finally arrived at his and Marianne’s bedchamber. He walked in and surprised his in laws, who urged him to sit and scolded Edward for letting him out of bed.

            “Do not blame Edward. I needed to see her and would not have it any other way,” Colonel Brandon said as he sat on an armchair they placed beside the bed, on the side Marianne lied. “How is she?”

            “We will know more once the doctor is here. But I believe it is not life-threatening,” Mrs. Dashwood said.

            Alice ushered in the doctor, and he was aghast to see Colonel Brandon out of bed. He wished to check on him, but he would not let him.

            “Do not worry for me, see to my wife, please!”

            And so the doctor started to do. Elinor hesitated. She did not want to break any news in Marianne’s stead. It should be her to do it. But the doctor needed to know.

            “Doctor…” The doctor looked back at her, as did all of the room. She took a deep breath, and found the courage to continue. “Doctor, I believe you should know that… that… it is very likely that Marianne is… with child.”

            She looked at Colonel Brandon and watched as his eyes grew in surprise. She attempted a feeble smile at him, but so many emotions were swirling around in his chest at once, he was not capable of showing any of them, nor could he utter a word. He only looked at the doctor, and pleaded with his eyes. The doctor just nodded and proceeded to his examination.

 

            “She seems well,” he said after all his examinations. “She only needs rest. The stress of the night’s events and the past days… along with what you have reported she had been feeling for the last week or so before… It all took its toll today. Just let her rest.”

            They all cleared the room. Colonel Brandon, slightly more relieved, though not completely for it was in his nature to worry for his beloved Marianne, allowed the doctor to proceed with his examination of his wound and general state. He refused medicine for the pain, for that would make him sleep, and he must remain awake and see to Marianne. After the doctor stated he was recovering, though slowly, well, he returned to sit at Marianne’s side and watch her.

            With child. She was with child. His happiness would be complete, if only he could be sure she still cared for him in any capacity, that her change over the past few weeks was only due to her condition, and that she was indeed appalled by what Willoughby had done to him and what he had suffered, and not due to Willoughby ruining his own life forever.

            Sir John and Crane returned late at night, and were pleasantly surprised to see Colonel Brandon awake. They informed everyone that they had captured Willoughby and turned him in to the authorities. What would become of him, only time would tell. But since he was still considered a gentleman, his wife had money and influence, and Colonel Brandon did not actually die, he would probably only be banished to a colony and not face the gallows.

            After the news, they all left the room again and left Colonel Brandon to his wife. He sat beside her, running his hands through his hair, apprehensive, desperate. He held her hand and kissed it and begged for her to wake up. She did not. He then decided to go into his dressing room and wash up, dress himself properly.

           

            Marianne awoke with a start, believing she was still facing Willoughby. She looked around and saw she was in her room, alone, and the first thing to come to her mind was not what had happened, where Willoughby was, or where was anyone else. Her first thought was Christopher. She needed to see Christopher.

            She got out of bed and left the room, not noticing her husband’s dressing room door was slightly open and that candlelight shone inside, as if someone was in there. She approached the room where he had been these past three days, where she had slept these past three days, and saw the bed not only was empty, it was made, clean, no trace of anyone having stayed there. Tears began to flow down her cheeks. How long had she been unconscious? No one would have moved Christopher, unless it was to their bedchamber. If he wasn’t there, this could only mean… Had he perished? Had the infection gotten complete hold of him and taken him from her? She gripped the door frame to support her as she cried profusely. This couldn’t be, no, no. How cruel to not have had more time with him. And because of her own foolishness, he had gone without knowing she loved him. She did, she did, she was completely and utterly sure now. She had loved him for some time, she was just too stubborn to accept it and let him in. She wanted to scream, to let out a wail like a wounded animal, but her voice was caught in her throat. She wasn’t even breathing. She hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye even. And now what would be of her and her – their- child, without its father? Life was utterly meaningless.

            As she leaned against the door frame, gripping it, trying not to fall over, she felt an arm wrap around her from behind and support her. It was comforting, it felt familiar and right.

            “Marianne, what are you doing out of bed?”

            She turned around, startled, and he could see she was crying profusely. “What is it, love? Why are you crying? I absolutely detest to see you sad.”

            She touched him as if to ascertain he was real, he was there. She touched his arms, his shoulders, his cheeks, his hair. “Christopher!” She pressed her lips on his and reveled in the familiar taste. It was him, it was really him.  “Oh thank God, Christopher. I thought you had died! What are _you_ doing out of bed? You can’t exert yourself, you must rest.” She wiped away her tears as she calmed down.

            “ _You_ must rest. You collapsed due to all the stress, but now I’m here to take care of you,” he started to half carry her back to their bedchamber.

            She disentangled from him. “No, Christopher! You can’t do that! You were shot! For goodness sake, let us get you back into bed.” And she started to escort him down the hall. He was walking very slowly, still he insisted “I’m fine.”

            “Hush!” She ordered.

            She sat him on the bed and as he made himself comfortable, he gripped his side and winced. She began to unbutton his shirt as he said “Just lay here beside me and rest. I don’t want you to worry. It is not good for you.”

            “You’ve been shot! How am I not to worry? Especially since it is my fault.” She pushed his shirt open as she blushed in anger.

            “How is it your fault?”

            “It was Willoughby who shot you… He is only in our lives because of me. And if I had read his damned letter, apparently he stated his plans to do something… I could have…”

            “No, none of that. This is not your fault, my Marianne. You’ve done nothing but bring joy to my life.”

            She smiled and touched his cheek and noticed he was still very warm. “Chrsitopher, you are still running a fever. You need to stay in bed. I need you here, alive and well with me.” She looked at his bandages and saw blood marked them. “I need to redress your wound.”

            She went to the basin in the corner of the room and prepared the cloths and bandages to redress him. She went back to sit by him and started to work, removing the old bandages and cleaning the wound so she could place the new ones. As she worked, he watched her and smiled.

            “I… I need to tell you something,” she began shyly, looking down at his wound.

            “I know,” he said.

            “You know?!?”

            “Yes. I don’t think Elinor meant to ruin the surprise, but the doctor needed to know you are with child to examine you. I was in the room when she revealed it.” He caressed her cheek. “That is why I insist you rest, for your sake and our child’s.”

            “Oh,” Marianne uttered. That wasn’t exactly what she intended to reveal just then. She smiled. “And are you… pleased with that news?”

            “How can you even ask that?” He smiled as she finished dressing his wound. “I am beyond pleased. I am overjoyed. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy. Or could ever be as joyous. A new word has to be coined to accurately express what it is I feel.”

            She brushed a lock of hair from his face and leaned in to kiss his lips. She dared to deepen the kiss despite his condition, and he responded. She broke the kiss and continued to touch his cheek, to caress him, and look into his eyes.

            “You have no idea how relieved I am that you are awake. I have never in my life been so scared and in agony. Promise you will never leave me. I don’t ever want to feel this way again. You have no idea what it feels like.”

            “I believe I may have an idea,” he smiled. “I seem to remember being madly in love with a young lady who liked to take long walks in the rain and fell ill for it. She did not wake for several days and her life was in danger. I was nothing to her, so propriety dictated I could not even go into the  sickroom to see her. Even if I could she would not want me there. So I was left to the coldness of the halls with only the doctor’s and her sister’s reports to go by when all I wished to do was hold her and love her back to health.”

            Even before he finished saying these words, Marianne’s heart swelled with love and seemed it would never fit in her chest again. She wanted to pour all the love she felt on him, shower him with it, but was afraid of being too eager and harming him. She was constantly surprised with how much he did love her, and always had, even though he had said before that he loved her from the moment he laid eyes on her. She caressed his cheek and looked into his beautiful eyes, her own eyes filled with tears.

            “Well, you are everything to me now. My life is but half a life in your absence. I love you more than words can describe, my sweet Christopher. I could read all the love poems in the world to you and that would still not properly express how I feel, how my heart swells up every time I look at you, every time I think of you. I love you, with all my heart, with every fiber in my body, I love you, and only you, Christopher. I am yours, body, heart and soul.”

            He could not hold back his shock or his tears upon hearing this. A declaration of love, from her lips, it had never before occurred. He cried, but he smiled.

            “My Marianne… you’ve never…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

            “I know. Because I’ve been a fool. But I will always, every day, from now on. And I hope to do it for an extremely long time. That is why you have to promise to stay in bed and heal, and never, ever leave me. I could not bear to live without you.”

            He smiled, giddy as a child. “I promise. I love you.”

            “I love you.”

            He pulled her to lie beside him and she snuggled on his shoulder, both happier than could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next (and last) chapter on Sunday!


	23. Epilogue

            Colonel Brandon felt his wife’s soft, warm hand caressing his chest, neck, then cheek. He smiled a timid smile but did not open his eyes.

            “Good morning, love of my life, light of my day,” she said, and he smiled softly once again. She had taken up the habit of waking him up with such words every time she woke before him, but he never tired of hearing them. Her declarations of love made his heart thump wildly in his chest as if it were the first time on every occasion.

            Her finger traced his lips. “I see you smiling, I know you are awake,” she whispered in his ear.

            He took her hand and pressed it against his lips and only then did he open his eyes and smile widely. “Good morning, love of _my_ life.” He rolled to lie on his side and cupped her cheeks, pulling her in for a kiss. It started gentle and tender but quickly deepened as his hand slid down her body and landed on her waist, pulling her hips against his. They broke for air and she smiled, stroking his cheek.

            “Behave, Christopher.”

            “Does your condition cause you any discomfort today?”

            “No, not today. I am well.” She smiled. Elinor’s herbal tea was indeed very soothing to such discomforts.

            “Then allow me to misbehave,” he rolled on top of her and kissed her lips. “It has been too long.”

            “It has not been so long,” she smiled as their lips met yet again and her hands ran up and down his back.

            “My body craves your closeness and warmth at every moment. I love you so.”

            “Yes. My body craves yours often as well. That is what got us into this predicament,” she laughed softly against his lips.

            “Then let us misbehave,” he pulled her knee to his waist.

            “I don’t think we have time, my love. Listen.”

            They froze and strained their ears as they heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet rushing up to their door. There was a pause and then the doorknob was jingled. They smiled at each other and Colonel Brandon ceased his attempts, lying back on his side of the bed as the doorknob jingled away in the attempt of being turned. The door finally swung open and in came a little boy, no older than three, the mirrored image of Christopher Brandon. He rushed to their bed, giggling, and struggled to climb it. As he did, his nurse rushed in.

            “Forgive me, Mr. and Mrs. Brandon, I tried…” She seemed a bit flustered.

            “It’s quite all right, Mary,” Marianne said with a smile as Colonel Brandon pulled the toddler onto the bed. “We will be out shortly.”

            The nurse left and closed the door as the boy hugged his Papa and then his Mama. Both hugs were received with wide smiles, and his Mama said “Hello, my precious boy” as he did so. He made himself comfortable in between them, their smiles never leaving their lips.

            “Papa, may we go outside and play?” he asked.

            “I believe we may, Alexander,” Colonel Brandon smiled, “but you should ask your Mama, to be certain.” He smiled up at his wife, who now sat up in bed.

            “May we, Mama?”

            “You may. After breakfast and Church.”

            The boy jumped up in joy on the bed and Colonel Brandon pulled him down before he fell. They got up to get dressed for the day and Marianne called his nurse back, so she could take him downstairs while they did so.

 

****

 

            Marianne stood behind a tree in their walled garden, watching as her son leaned against the back of their house, covering his face and slowly counting. Behind her, Colonel Brandon planted kisses on her neck and the flesh of her shoulders that her dress did not cover. His hands dipped from her waist to her stomach. She turned her back to the tree and smiled at him before pulling him in for a kiss. Their lips parted and he quickly pulled her back for another, deeper and longer as one hand held her cheek and the other held her body pressed to his by the waist.

            “Chris!” She managed to break free from him giggling. “Alexander is coming to find us!”

            “He is still counting,” he offered, pecking her lips then her neck.

            “He can only count to ten,” she said.

            “Well then, we know what tomorrow’s lesson should be,” he smiled.

            “Hush,” she said sniggering, “here he comes.”

            Their son found their hiding place and his hazel eyes lit up as he laughed joyfully. He then ran off because he knew of the routine where his Papa would now chase him. And that his Papa did, catching him and lifting his son from the ground up over his tall head as Alexander laughed loudly and his Mama caught up to them, smiling.

            Colonel Brandon held his son in one arm as his wife took the other, and they walked up to the area closer to the manor, where there was lawn furniture they could sit on.

            “Let us go again, Papa!” The boy exclaimed happily.

            “Not right now. Your cousins Jonathan and Michael will be here soon. We can play more when they get here,” Colonel Brandon said, then tickled his son’s belly.

 

****

 

            Colonel Brandon sat in bed reading. It had been a tiresome day, chasing toddlers around the garden. Marianne came out of her dressing room and walked up to him, reaching for his book and closing it, to place it on his bedside table as he looked at her, puzzled. She leaned in and kissed his lips passionately and he smiled when they broke apart. She then climbed on the bed and straddled him.

            “Am I allowed to misbehave now?” He asked.

            “You are very much required to,” she said and then kissed him with passion, her hand sinking in his hair. His hand slowly glided up her body, pulling with it her nightgown as they shared passionate kisses. He then turned her to lie on her back, him lying on top of her. His lips trailed their way from hers to her earlobe, nibbling on it. He then planted kisses on her collarbone and down to her breasts. There he lingered, gently licking and teasing her. As she was made more tender than usual due to her condition, she moaned and encouraged him more earnestly, sinking her fingers of the one hand into his hair and her nails of the other on his shoulder. He smiled and continued his journey lower, past her abdomen, which was not yet swollen, to her privates. She gripped the sheets and rolled her head back into the mattress as he teased her bud of nerves with his tongue. She pulled on his hair and called out his name softly as her pleasure built. She was on the verge of losing control when he stopped and trailed his way back up her body with his lips. His goal, her lips. He kissed her deeply as he entered her, and she pulled off his nightshirt when their lips parted.

            Her hands glided up and down his back, then squeezed his buttocks as he gently moved inside her. She dug her heels behind him, pulling him closer, the pleasure evident on her face. She looked him deep in his eyes and smiled, brushing back a lock of his hair from his forehead.

            “You are so handsome, my sweet Chris,” she gasped as his movements pleased her so.

            “You are the most beautiful creature in this world. You make me so happy because you are mine.” He began to move more rapidly.

            “I am. Completely yours, Christopher. Yours.”

            “As I am yours.”

            “I love you. I love you,” she caressed his cheek and could not help but to roll back her eyes and moan loudly at his movements.

            “I love you, my Marianne. More than I can ever express.” He touched his forehead to hers and his fingers interlocked with hers, holding her hands over her head.

            He moved more vigorously and made her achieve her height, and she triggered him to achieve his.

            As they came down, he lay on her chest and she stroked his hair, smiling.

            “I could never imagine such great felicity could be possible. But you show it to me daily. Thank you, Chris. For loving me. For providing me with the happiest existence one could possibly have.”  

            “I am glad I can provide you with a fraction of the happiness you provide me, my love.”

            They kissed passionately and slept in each other’s arms, smiling. Soon, morning would come and renew their happiness, as it always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> Thank you for reading! And thank you for all the kindness.


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